What If
by Desert Starr
Summary: desert is kind of embarrassed to leave this up, but since it's her longest fic to date and all that jazz, it will stay. the likelihood of the promised revision are slim, at least until desert graduates and has a little more time.
1. Just Another Day

**And here's a random drabble because I need some goddamn **_**fluff**_** every now and then. e_e **_**Here We Stand**_** is in the works, as promised, but my Muse has an overabundance of ideas sometimes and I can't fit them all into one story.**

**This is set in July of 1998, so it's before the events in RE0 and RE1. I'll keep it as close to RE canon as humanly possible, with one exception, which is what makes this fic AU: there was never any such thing as Project Wesker. If you haven't played RE5, basically what this means is that Wesker won't be the same psychopath we all knew and trembled in fear of from the games. This is my interpretation of what Wesker would have been like if Project W hadn't fucked with his mind. If I adhered strictly to that idea, Wesker's name wouldn't even be Wesker; however, it's just too odd for me to refer to him as anything other than Wesker, so his name will stay the same. Forgive me for that, but I tried, and I just couldn't find another name that fit him. It bugged me out, to be honest.  
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The R.P.D. S.T.A.R.S.' Alpha team ambled out onto the track field behind the station, toting their firearms – there was a gun range beyond the track – and other equipment necessary for the day's workout. It was mid-afternoon, just long enough after lunch that their food had digested; the heat of the day, though the more physically demanding parts of their training session would come later, when the sun wasn't at its zenith. Even in Pennsylvania, the middle of summer got hot enough that doing heavy work was uncomfortable.

As they entered the field, the team's newest member elbowed his teammates and chuckled, pointing to the lone figure jogging mindlessly around the track. They all recognized Bravo team's sharpshooter, Forest Speyer, and they had to join in the mirth. Joseph cupped his hands over his mouth and called, in a wicked imitation of the line from the classic film _Forest Gump_, "Run, Forest, run!"

As Forest rounded the far corner of the track, all five Alpha team members heard his voice drift to them through the muggy air, "Fuck you, Jo!" This, of course, just caused them to break into more chuckles, with Joseph and Brad Vickers doing so the most emphatically. The newest Alpha team member, though only recently promoted, had quickly endeared himself to his new teammates with his irrepressible sense of humor. Even the older, more level-headed Barry found himself laughing at Joseph's shenanigans.

"It's impolite to laugh at others' misfortunes, gentlemen," chided a sixth voice, "especially since you could easily be joining him." Alpha team turned to face the newcomer, Joseph looking particularly sheepish as the founder of S.T.A.R.S. and the Alpha team captain approached. Though quite average in height and build, something about him never failed to intimidate new members; the rawest rookie, Bravo team's Rebecca Chambers, had admitted that in her interview with the man that she'd been completely overawed by the captain's presence. Perhaps it was the dark, cool colors of his uniform, or the ever-present sunglasses on his nose.

The only woman in the group smirked privately to herself. Jill hadn't been laughing, so naturally she hadn't been included when the captain called out the merry-makers.

"Speyer!"

As his name was called, Forest obediently left off rounding the curve and trotted up to his superior. "Yes, Captain Wesker?"

Forest watched his own reflection in Wesker's sunglasses as the blonde spoke. "How much longer will you be out here?"

Forest grimaced repentantly and looked to one side. "Until Rico calls me back in, sir," he explained.

Wesker quirked an eyebrow inquisitively while crossing his arms over his chest, ignoring Joseph's snicker behind him. "What did you do this time, to annoy Marini so badly?"

The Bravo team sharpshooter looked at his feet like a sheepish child. "Me an' Eddy were just dickin' around like we always do, nothin' special. Rico must'a got somethin' up his ass, he's been bitchy all day."

A faint smirk tugged at Wesker's lips. "Dealing with idiots like you and Dewey, I don't blame him. It's no wonder he's starting to go gray at forty-one."

Hearing the humor in Wesker's voice, Forest relaxed a bit, no longer fearing an extra reprimand from Alpha team's imposing captain. "Heh, yeah. I could'a swore I heard him celebrate when Jo got moved to your team, Cap'n."

Now it was Chris and Brad's turn to snicker at Joseph's expression, and Wesker cracked a smile. "His expression was of pure relief when I told him. But he still has to deal with you, I'm afraid. Tell him I sent you back in early, we need the field and I'd rather not be tripping over you constantly."

Relief spread over Forest's features and he ducked his head gratefully. "Thanks, Captain Wesker!" he said before promptly trotting past Alpha team back toward the station, as if before Wesker could change his mind. Joseph gave his former teammate a mock-encouraging slap on the back as he passed, earning himself a one-finger salute from the sharpshooter. The other Alpha members smiled to themselves. They wouldn't be on the field for another hour or more, and in any case their exercises wouldn't be hindered by an extra person running laps.

After a session of target practice – during which Barry remarked to the captain in a loud whisper that it was a good thing he'd sent Forest back in or else they'd have had to endure _another_ shootout between Forest and Chris, with Wesker replying in kind that that had been his main reason behind taking pity on the sharpshooter and Chris remarking loftily that Forest only _wished _he was as good – came everyone's least favorite drills. The only one who got enjoyment out of the taxing, repetitive exercises was Wesker, who naturally didn't have to participate, only observe. He smirked wordlessly at the complaints his team voiced. By the time they were done, everyone was hot, tired, and a little grumpy. Joseph kept up a steady stream of grumbles as they packed up their gear; the rest of the team ignored their newest member's sullen plaints, but eventually they grated a bit too much on Chris' nerves, and he rounded crossly on the omni man. "Jo, just shut up already, will you?"

Undaunted by the way Chris loomed several inches over him, Joseph bristled. "What if I don't want to, huh?" he snapped.

Noticing the team captain's intense scrutiny of the quarrelers, Chris just rolled his eyes and forewent replying to Joseph's ill-tempered demand. He knew better than to pick a fight with Wesker around. Been there, done that. But Joseph hadn't been with the team long enough to learn that lesson, and opened his mouth to continue antagonizing the marksman, when a black-gloved hand descended onto his shoulder. "Frost, that's quite enough," Wesker said sternly. Although his voice and expression was flat and impassive, it still made Joseph jump slightly.

"Uh, yessir. Sorry, sir. I just, uh… lost my temper for a second, sir," he stammered.

Barry and Chris exchanged knowing looks and grins. They saw the faint smirk on their captain's lips, and knew what that meant. New Alpha team members, as was the custom, had to go through a form of hazing before they were counted as officially part of the team. It seemed to be time for Joseph to be inducted, and the one to bring him into the fold, as had happened for the other four members, was Captain Wesker himself. Brad and Jill, after being beckoned by the other two, formed a loose semi-circle that cupped around Joseph, who was by far the more likely one to try to bolt.

"Did you?" Wesker inquired rhetorically, smirking down at the cowed omni man. "You're new to the team, so ignorance is excusable, but only once. I won't tolerate anyone starting quarrels on my team, Frost. If you have a problem with one of your teammates, you bring it to me, understood?" At Joseph's nervous nod, Wesker's smirk widened. "And I mean that quite literally. If you feel like picking a fight with some in Alpha, by extension you are picking it with me. I'll give you one freebie, Frost, then your grace period is over." Wesker was, by now, wearing a grin at Joseph's expression. "Come on then, _en guarde_." He adopted a relaxed but ready stance; the only one not grinning was Joseph, whose face was the picture of wary confusion.

"Uh, what?"

"It's very simple, Frost. You get one chance to start a fight. But since I don't want anyone getting into a brawl, if you fight anyone, it will be me, since I'm responsible for this team. And if you don't learn your lesson from this…" he trailed off and let Joseph's imagination take up, which was certain to be more effective than anything he could say. As the implication of what Wesker had said sank in, Joseph's expression shifted to a devious smile. A chance to take a swing at the infamous Captain Wesker? Why not!

Clenching his hands into fists, Joseph brought his right hand up in a vicious uppercut at Wesker's chin. The older man tilted his head and leaned back just enough that Joseph's knuckles clipped his chin with far less force than he'd actually put behind that swing; even with that, it clashed his teeth together resoundingly and made him bite his lip.

Wesker danced back before Joseph could take another swing, smirking ominously. "There went your free hit, Frost." Joseph charged forward with fists raised, but his momentum was reversed sharply when he encountered an elbow jabbing harshly into his solar plexus, followed by Wesker's other fist slamming into his abdomen. Joseph reeled backward, wheezing, and toppled flat onto his back when Wesker's shin came into abrupt contact with the back of his knees and folded his legs right under him.

Joseph bounced upright promptly and, ducking under a wide right hook, threw himself forward into a tackle, hoping to return the favor and drive his shoulder into Wesker's gut. The team captain tilted his body so that the blow was only glancing, and swung his knee into Joseph's ribs. Joseph staggered but recovered, and shot his fist forward, right at Wesker's nose. But, in a move that left the omni man dizzy and confused, Wesker caught the fist and used the kinetic energy behind it to flip him right back onto his rear in the dirt. This time, though, Wesker continued the assault while Joseph was down; at the last moment he deflected his fist and it collided with the ground right next to Joseph's cheek.

Eyes widening, Joseph lurched upright; but he had no time to initiate another strike, because Wesker was in his space, kneeing him savagely in the gut, and when he doubled over with a gasp, brought his fist crashing down on the back of Joseph's head. The omni man saw stars and measured his length on the ground once more, but this time he made no attempt to get back up. Wesker stood over him, smirking, while he rubbed the back of his head and rolled onto his back. "Uncle, uncle! You win, Captain! Mercy!" he whimpered.

"Melodramatic," Jill remarked to Chris with a wry snort. Chris chuckled, replying that that was Jo.

Wesker's smirk widened into a true grin, and he held his hand out to Joseph. When the omni man took it, he was hauled swiftly to his feet and clapped on the shoulder. "And now it's official. Welcome to Alpha team," he said with a chuckle. Joseph smiled ruefully, catching on, and coughed when Barry came up and gave his back an encouraging slap.

"Hoi, none of that, I'm still trying to catch my breath!" he protested, shying away from the burly weapons specialist. Laughter rippled through the rest of the team as they began making their way back to the station, with Joseph predictably playing up his defeat and limping conspicuously. As they walked, Joseph turned to Chris, who besides Barry had been on Alpha team the longest. "So, does he do that with everyone?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah. Handed all our asses to us, too, so don't feel bad."

"Even to Jill?" Joseph turned to the only female Alpha team member, raising his eyebrows in surprise. Jill snorted.

"Our captain is a gentleman, he would never raise his hand against a woman," she remarked wryly. "No, I got the verbal flaying rather than the physical smackdown. Chris and Brad can attest, you guys are lucky than he only gave you a few bruises. If I'd had a reputation at that point, it would've been nonexistent by the time he was done." As both Chris and Brad were nodded emphatically in agreement, Joseph gave Jill a sympathetic grimace.

"It's kinda hard to be grateful when it feels like your ribs are cracked and your skull's shattered," he commented, reaching back to rub his head again. "Jeez, you'd think he'd spare me the migraine."

Barry rumbled a chuckle. "He was going easy on you as it was, Jo."

Incredulous, Joseph turned to the others, but they all agreed with Barry's assessment. "You've gotta be shitting me."

Chris shook his head. "He's not the captain for nothing. We could tell he was going easy. Did you notice that he never even went for your face? And he only swung at you when you were on the ground once, and deliberately missed? If he'd been serious, you'd be black and blue."

Barry snickered. "Like you were, eh Chris?"

The marksman grimaced. "At least I didn't make it easy on him. I managed to give him a few bruises too."

"Not nearly as many as you had," Barry insisted, grinning at the now-disgruntled Chris.

Joseph grinned at Chris' discomfiture, and turned to Brad to inquire how his own fight with Wesker had turned out. The pilot sighed dramatically and threw his arm over Joseph's shoulder. "Same way yours did, Jo. In the dirt begging for mercy."

In a similar manner, the short walk to the station was occupied by the Alpha team. Wesker sauntered along in front of the group, listening to the banter with a faint smile on his lips. There was a bit of complaining about how tyrannical the captain could be sometimes, how he was a hardass and a slavedriver, but none of the plaints were made with any ill-feeling behind them. He worked them hard, but that was why they were such an elite team, and why there was no little jealousy amongst Bravo team about Joseph's promotion to Alpha over the others' heads. Being part of S.T.A.R.S. Alpha was a prestigious position in the R.P.D., and every one of them was proud to wear the uniform. And, even if their captain didn't cut them much slack, they knew it was because he considered them good enough that they didn't require much slack. And they worked hard to live up to those expectations.

Once all the equipment was put up and everyone went back to the S.T.A.R.S. office, Richard Aiken from Bravo team hailed them. "Hey guys! Me an' Forest an' Eddy are trying to get up a buncha guys to go for a drink after work, wanna come?"

"Does that mean I can't go?" Jill inquired wryly.

Everyone in the room chuckled, while Richard rolled his eyes and wryly assured her that yes, she was invited. Chris, Joseph and Brad also accepted the offer, then turned with Richard to face the aloof Captain Wesker, just about begging him to come. "C'mon, Captain! Rico's too busy, or so he says," Richard said cajolingly.

Wesker quirked an eyebrow, smiling subtly at the eager anticipation on their faces. "So all of you are incapable of enjoying an evening out without one of your superiors there babysitting, is that what you're insinuating?" Richard blustered as the smile on Wesker's face widened at his discomfiture.

"Well, we will need a designated driver, sir," Chris offered to save Bravo's backup man. "Knowing Jo and Ed, all of us aren't going to be sober enough to drive ourselves home." That earned him indignant glares from the men in question, but since he was right, there was no protest.

A chuckle bubbled up from Wesker's chest. "Fair enough. Put that way, I suppose I should come along. Count me in, then." Formerly disgruntled expressions lifted into happy grins. Jill mused to herself that they were like a pack of little kids, begging their big brother to come play with them. In a way, that's exactly what it was, since although ages in S.T.A.R.S. ranged greatly, the team captain possessed an air of confident authority that the others naturally looked up to and admired. The newer members seemed to all go through a phase where they were very intimidated by their captain, and in most cases slightly resentful because they felt so intimidated, before they became accustomed to being in the team and realized that Wesker wasn't what his reputation in the R.P.D. painted him as.

Jill snorted. According to the average officer in the Raccoon Police Department, the S.T.A.R.S. captain Wesker was a cold, autocratic monster who was only civil to his team to make sure he kept his position. But, as Jill had experienced, he wasn't that bad of a guy once you got used to all his little idiosyncrasies. True, he was rather standoffish and aloof at first, and he didn't have much of a tolerance for stupidity – and possessed a sardonic, cuttingly acerbic sense of humor – but beyond that he was a decent guy. Mostly everyone thought he was a tyrant because he didn't show his more easygoing side often, and many were stung by his sharp wit. However, if one were to ask any of the four veteran Alpha team members, they would all affirm that they trusted their captain with their very lives, and were just as proud to be on his team as they had been the day of their promotion.

A hand being waved in front of her face pulled Jill out of her moment of introspection, and she mock-grimaced at Joseph, pulling one fist back as if to punch him. Joseph, of course, shied away with the protest that he didn't need _another_ beating today, thank you. A cutting remark from Wesker broke off the playful mock-quarrel and the team settled down to finish up the last of the business for that day, then they all left as one for the parking lot. Roughly half of their eight-person party went straight home to drop their vehicles off, and then piled into another's car to go to the bar they had agreed upon. It was inevitable, as Chris had pointed out, that there would be enough alcohol flowing that one or more of the group would end up too inebriated to safely drive themselves. After all, they were cops – a fine example it would set if one of them got into an accident because they were buzzed behind the wheel.

Once at the bar and all settled in, with drinks in hand, the team clowns promptly threw out a challenge to see who could out-drink them. It was a truly worthy challenge, for Edward and Joseph both had surprisingly high tolerances for alcohol. After much pestering and cajoling, Wesker was persuaded to participate, along with Chris and Brad.

Chris was the first victim, though by forfeit; he knew his limits and didn't particularly relish a hangover the next morning. Brad was the next to go, and though he didn't pass out or anything equally damaging to his dignity, he was definitely drunk, though he swore up and down he was stone-cold sober. Even Edward was beginning to slur his words, giggling tipsily along with Joseph, while Wesker remained as collected as ever.

The contest hadn't stopped the others from enjoying their drinks; they just knew they didn't stand a chance. Both Forest and Jill had consumed enough to develop a mild buzz; Richard, though he'd plainly wanted to join in the fun, had already agreed to drive, so he had resigned himself to non-alcoholic beverages. Chris was in the process of sobering up so that, between the two of them, if worst came to worst the other six S.T.A.R.S. members would have a ride home.

Jill chuckled at the drunken ribaldry being traded amongst the group, pausing to give her captain a grin and a wink. He raised an eyebrow at the intoxicated flush dusting her cheeks. She smirked back and stood, announcing that she should probably be going, since it was getting kinda late. But after she had a piss.

"You're not driving," Wesker remarked, making the statement an order; Jill had been one of the ones who had brought her car.

"I'm not leaving my car to be vandalized by idiots like them," she retorted, jerking her thumb at Brad, Edward and Joseph, the latter pair having finally conceded defeat when it became evident that they couldn't walk a straight line without toppling over.

"Valentine, you're drunk. You're not driving," he insisted. Chris, on hearing the statement, snorted into his water glass, and Jill grinned.

"This is barely buzzed, Captain. If I was drunk, believe me, you'd know it." Without giving him the chance to say anything else, she turned on her heel and headed for the bathroom, and to her credit, her stride and posture gave almost no indication to her blood-alcohol levels.

With a chuckle, Chris shook his head slightly. "She's right, Captain. I've seen her when she's drunk – it's not pretty."

Wesker quirked an eyebrow at that, easily able to put two and two together going by Chris' tone and expression. A knowing smirk tugged at his lips. "I take it you've been on the receiving end of her attentions before?"

"Yep. I'll give her this, though: she wasn't _that_ drunk, so when I told her to knock it off, she did." He shook his head again.

Not long after that, Jill returned, and went to stand next to Wesker's shoulder. "Okay, I'm a little more buzzed than I thought," she remarked.

Wesker stood. "I'm glad you reached that conclusion, Valentine. I wouldn't have let you drive no matter what. I'll take you home – I've had enough karaoke for the night." Happily drunk, Brad, Edward and Joseph were enthusiastically and tonelessly singing a three-part harmony of _Don't Stop Believin'_.

"Those three are enough to make a hardcore Journey fan retch," Jill agreed with a grimace in the singers' direction. They bid the others good night and left the bar, strolling leisurely over to Wesker's sleek '86 Mustang where it sat parked between to Jill's Wrangler and Richard's pickup truck. He opened the passenger side door for her, and as she sat down, Jill remarked, "Have I mentioned that you've got a nice car?"

Easing into the driver's seat, Wesker chuckled. "Only every time you've been in it."

Jill reached over to mesh her fingers with those of his free hand. "I just never get tired of it."

He lifted their interlaced hands to press a kiss onto her knuckles. "So I gathered, dear heart."

The drive to Jill's apartment was a brief one. Ever the gentleman, Wesker walked her to the door and stood by while she dug through her pockets to find the key.

"Shit, where is it?" Jill swore, shoving her hands frantically into every pocket. "Goddammit! The hell is my damn key?"

"Perhaps you left it at the station?" Wesker offered wryly.

"No, I got everything out of my locker before I left, I'm sure of that. Oh sshhhit," she hissed, dropping her head against the door with a soft _thud_. "I remember. I was in such a hurry this morning that I left it on the drawer." She'd narrowly avoided being late that morning. "Dammit, and the office is closed for the night, so I can't get a spare. God fucking dammit!"

Though unimpressed by her colorful language, doubtlessly a side-effect of the lingering buzz, Wesker couldn't help but chuckle.

"I could get in anyway, but there's something demeaning about having to break into your own home, and at any rate I've been asked not to do that." Jill sighed heavily and turned a pleading eye to Wesker. "I don't suppose you'd let me stay with you, would you, Albert?"

He smiled and slipped an arm around her waist. "I was about to offer that very thing, in fact. My apartment feels awfully lonely these days, when there's only one occupant."

She returned the smile slyly and cupped both hands behind his neck, pulling him down to her. Far from protesting, he bent his head and captured her lips for a brief, fond kiss. "We can't have that," Jill replied teasingly.

And so they returned to Wesker's car and drove the slightly longer distance to his apartment, which was nearly on the opposite side of town. Again, he graciously opened Jill's door for her, and with a playful smile offered his elbow. She hooked her arm through his and allowed him to escort her up the staircase, where he unlocked and opened the door without dropping her arm, and gestured grandly with his free hand. "Ladies first."

Jill shook her head in mock exasperation at his gentlemanly antics and stepped into his apartment. Wesker's living quarters were as neat and clean as anyone could hope for – quite a contrast from the homes of a few of the other bachelors in S.T.A.R.S., namely Chris, whose apartment looked like a tornado had gone through. He claimed it was an "organized mess", though Jill knew the oxymoron was nothing but an excuse. Chris was a typical twenty-four-year-old male. Wesker, on the other hand, was _not_ a typical thirty-eight-year-old male, which was what she'd always loved about him. One of the things she'd always loved about him, at least.

Behind her, she heard the door close and boot-shod feet advance until they were directly behind her, while arms loosely encircled her waist. "Welcome home," Wesker murmured, nuzzling the side of her neck affectionately.

Jill laughed lightly and turned around in his embrace, throwing her own arms around his neck and leaning into his strong, lean body. She pressed her lips to his, fervently, and was pleased when he pulled her flush against him and deepened the kiss. Suddenly, Jill pulled back, and very deliberately plucked the sunglasses off his face. "I don't know how you _see_, wearing those at night," she scolded.

Now unveiled, the watery blue of Wesker's eyes seemed to pierce right into her very soul, as if the translucent color gave him the ability to see through the physical world and into the next. The first time she'd seen Wesker's eyes, she hadn't been able to look away for a long moment, struck by the almost uncanny quality. She'd never met anyone with such pale eyes before – if you didn't look close, you might think the whites of his eyes gave way directly to the pupil. It suited him, and not just because his reputation was as a cold-hearted tyrant – since Jill had met him, he had never once lost his temper. He was always cool and collected; and even when angry, that icy wrath was enough to give anyone in their right mind chills.

Right now, though, his clear ice-colored eyes gleamed with humor as he chuckled at Jill's cross chastisement. When she tried to disengage herself from his grip to put the shades on the coffee table behind her, Wesker kept his arms locked around her ribcage and pulled her back against him. "Oh no you don't," he purred, smirking mischievously.

Under normal circumstances, Jill probably would have continued the flirtation by playing hard to get and squirming out of his grasp, but with a few drinks on board, the game plan had changed. Instead, she willingly melted into his touch, letting the shades fall carelessly to the floor while her hands were otherwise engaged burying in Wesker's hair, ruining the carefully slicked-back order it had been in.

Another languid chuckle bubbled up from Wesker's chest. "Jill, you're quite lovely when you're buzzed," he remarked, pressing a kiss under her jaw, where he could feel her pulse under his lips. "It's a good thing you opted to let me drive. I'm afraid you would've been able to charm anyone who pulled you over out of giving you a ticket."

Jill left off nibbling at his earlobe for a moment to reply, "I wouldn't have been pulled over. Anyway, you're a hypocrite; I can tell you're a little buzzed too. You may have a freakishly high alcohol tolerance, but it's humanly impossible to drink as much as you did and remain sober."

"You caught me." Wesker smirked and tilted his head to claim Jill's lips once more in a kiss. "But everything worked out, so all is well."

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Jill woke with thin slivers of light peeking through the closed blinds and shining into her face; groaning, she turned over, facing away from the window. She found herself with her nose a hair's breadth from the back of Wesker's neck. Fondly, she slid one hand under him and draped the other over his side, twining her fingers loosely in front of him and pulling herself against his lean bare back. She could tell he was awake by the more rapid, shallow breaths he was taking, in comparison to the deep, slow respiration of the deeply asleep.

"Good morning," he said, tilting his head to quirk an eyebrow and smile at her. She smiled back and kissed his cheek cheerily.

"Good morning, Albert."

Wesker blinked once, languidly, and sighed. "Morning people like you baffle me," he remarked.

Jill chuckled and sat up, giving his hip a playful smack as she did. "And insomniacs like _you_ baffle _me_, so we're even."

Before she could withdraw her hand, Wesker had caught it in his and pulled it to his lips, pressing a kiss into her palm and then closing her fingers into a loose fist around it. She pulled her hand out of his grip with a smile. While he was in the process of waking up enough to get out of bed, Jill went about making a pot of coffee and hunting up breakfast. It was habit, by now, since Jill spent most of her weekends here rather than in her apartment. She sighed. Weekend sleep-overs were the best they could do, with both of them busy with S.T.A.R.S. most of the week. No one knew about the relationship, for if word got to the R.P.D. that Alpha team Captain Wesker was dating Alpha team Rear Security Officer Valentine, then she would be forced to relocate to a different part of the department. Rules against this type of fraternization were necessary, she knew, for police officers to do their jobs properly, but that didn't make it any easier when trying to bend those rules.

In a perfect world, they would be sharing an apartment by now; or perhaps more, though Jill kept that hope strictly to herself. She could guess how Wesker would react to that notion. She had to roll her eyes – he wasn't a typical man by any means, but he _was_ a man and therefore shared some traits in common with the rest of the male species. And they all seemed to share a horror of commitment. Why, Jill would never know. It was just a part of life. Either way, the problem would probably never come up, given the issues they were having just keeping their relationship undiscovered right then.

Jill was brought back to reality when she felt a hand coming to rest on her hip and lean pectoral muscles press lightly against her back. Wesker's other arm reached past her to one of the two mugs Jill had set out, and with a smile she obligingly poured some of the now-ready coffee into it. He brought it straight to his lips; how he could stand black coffee, especially _strong_ black coffee, with nothing to offset the flavor, was beyond her. But he gave every indication of enjoying the horribly bitter brew, and when she added sugar and creamer to her cup, she saw his nostrils flare in distaste. "Each to their own," she remarked defensively, cradling her mug with both hands.

He cradled her against his chest and smirked. "I didn't say a thing."

"But you were thinking it," Jill added in mock severity.

"What I was thinking had nothing to do with coffee."

She slapped him playfully and pulled away from him. Wesker just grinned and let her take a few steps away before reeling her right back into his embrace, nuzzling his face into her hair. "There you go jumping to conclusions," he chuckled. "Really now, what did you think was going through my mind?"

"Knowing you, probably nothing this early in the morning."

Wesker snorted and released Jill so he could poke through the refrigerator for food to quiet the impatient squirling noises his stomach was making. "You're nearly right. _Food_ is the only thing going through my mind right now. What do you feel like this morning?"

Jill couldn't help but smile fondly at her lover's back. Would the rest of S.T.A.R.S. recognize him, the way he was acting now as opposed to the way he was at the station? Doubtful. "Whatever's fine. I'm easy."

"You are not helping."

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**-spazztwitchflail- That rambled. A lot. But oh well. It was fluffy.**


	2. Beginning of the End

**This chapter takes place on July 23-25, 1998. During the events of RE0 and RE1. Only, without Wesker's conniving, it's different. And marginally fluffier. Yes, fluffier. Don't question me.  
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**

Bravo team was grim but determined as they got ready to embark on their mission. An undercurrent of excitement – even anticipation – was evident as well, for this was the first really high-profile, risky mission Bravo had been sent on in a while. To a man they were ready, straining against the bit to prove themselves and show that they were just as good as Alpha team; Wesker had to admire their eagerness. Especially on the part of little Chambers, the newest member of S.T.A.R.S.; this was to be her very first mission.

Something about this whole case had made Wesker uneasy since the very beginning. He, for one, knew what the forests around Raccoon held. As a younger man he'd been a researcher for Umbrella, one of their bright stars, in fact, so much so that he was transferred to the Management Training Facility, and when it was later shut down, to the hidden Arklay lab. He'd seen how cleverly it was disguised, and how alarmingly easy it would be for a viral outbreak to spread through the forest. It had been unsettling, but for an ambitious young researcher concerned with only the results of his studies it was trivial. He even managed to overlook the horrors they were inflicting on their test subjects – it was too easy to think of creatures like Lisa Trevor as experiments and not beings that had once been sentient. It made the bile rise in his throat when he thought about it, so he just didn't, and focused on his research.

His partner William hadn't seemed to care how his research would be applied – he, like Marcus, was obsessed with the viruses. Wesker knew how thin the line was between researching to save people and researching to kill people – but William saw only the project. Wesker saw the bigger picture; he was able to ignore it for a while, but as time went on, he became more and more disenchanted. So, when the G-virus project was authorized in 1991, he left Umbrella. Wesker joined the R.P.D., and it wasn't long after that that the Special Tactics and Rescue Service was formed. Part of the reason he'd made S.T.A.R.S. the way he did, Wesker reflected, was that he knew what lurked in the mountains, and wanted to prepare them to deal with such a situation should it ever arise.

So when reports began to come in about the horrific, cannibalistic murders, it immediately set off alarm bells in Wesker's mind. He kept his suppositions to himself, though; his paranoia could be unfounded, after all. The chance that one of the experimental viruses managed to break out in the first place was slim, unless there was a catastrophic failure somewhere. Or… or if the normal procedures for the prevention of an outbreak were deliberately interrupted. Umbrella, he knew, was quite capable of doing something that twisted. The hint of a disgusted grimace tugged at Wesker's expression, but he didn't allow it to show. He kept his face impassive as he approached his second in command.

"Wesker," Enrico greeted coolly, nodding.

"Marini. Good luck," he said. Then, he added as an afterthought, "And be careful."

Enrico glanced at his team, who were nearby gearing, up, and stepped closer so his lowered voice could be heard by Wesker alone. "I dunno about you, but I've got a bad feeling about this mission."

Wesker felt a pang of satisfaction and pride that his subordinates' instincts were as keen. "I do too. There's something not right about it. Look sharp when you get out there, there's no telling what you could run into."

Enrico nodded in firm agreement. "Right. But I've got faith in my team, we should be fine." The almost paternal pride Enrico felt for his team nearly brought a smile to Wesker's lips as he went to wish the rest of Bravo good luck, then went back to the S.T.A.R.S. office where his own team were working. He bid them keep an ear out for reports from Bravo team once those began coming in, in case it got to the point that they needed to go lend a hand.

"What do you think, Captain?" Joseph inquired, curious about Wesker's opinion on Bravo's chances of success. After all, he'd been with them until recently.

Wesker sat behind his desk – almost slumping into his chair, though only Jill noticed this subtle cue – and steepled his fingers. "If nothing catastrophic happens, they should be fine. However, given the number of unknowns surrounding the situation, the chances of something catastrophic happening could be greater than we think. After all, that's why they were sent in, and not a different branch of the department. Is it my prediction you're looking for, Frost?"

Joseph nodded.

"To be honest, I have no prediction." He lifted and dropped one shoulder in a shrug. "We just don't know enough." He did have a private suspicion, but he wasn't about to share it with anyone.

Chris, Jill and Barry exchanged glances. If Wesker, blindingly intelligent Wesker who seemed to never be taken by surprise, had no prediction – or if he wasn't willing to share it – then things were probably worse than he was making them out to be. But they saw why he was being so tight-lipped and kept their misgivings to themselves. No sense in causing a panic if a panic wasn't warranted – God knew Brad was easy to spook, and though Joseph had been a Navy SEAL and was as bold as anyone could ask, that bravado hadn't been tested in anything more than training runs before.

At first, it looked like all was going as well as could be expected, despite a few hitches, when the reports suddenly cut off. The last thing Wesker could make out was Enrico calling out in confused alarm about half-rotten dogs before the transmission ended; at that point, Wesker considered his fears confirmed. He'd seen the virus-infected Cerberi, oh yes, and if there were Cerberi roaming the Arklay forests, that almost certainly meant that there were other infected. He sensed the concerned, slightly nervous gazes of his team and schooled his grim expression into its usual neutrality. "Gear up, but we're not going to go charging off just yet. We may get another transmission telling us they made it through unscathed. If they don't make contact again, then we'll go looking for them."

Joseph looked about to protest at the waiting, but a hand on his shoulder and a look from Barry simmered him down. Brad, typically, was clearly the most nervous about this whole affair. Well, that was why he was the pilot, and often a worrier's touchy, adrenaline-fueled reflexes were faster and surer than that of even the best trained marksman. Hopefully he wouldn't live up to Joseph's title for him too much. The other three were grim, as befitting the fishy nature of this whole ordeal, but determined and unafraid. They were confident in their own abilities, in their teammates, and in their captain. Wesker suppressed a sigh. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if something disastrous happened to the team because of him. Somehow, he felt like this was his fault; if he hadn't come here, so close to the facility at which he'd formerly worked, then maybe it wouldn't have happened. Realistically, of course, he knew that was ridiculous, but he just couldn't bear the thought of a disaster befalling the team because their trust in him was misplaced.

"Listen up," he began somberly as they gathered around, fully equipped and ready to spring into action the moment the order was given. "This isn't in any way, shape or form official or proven, but I've had a bad feeling about this case from the beginning, and what we just heard only confirms my suspicion. There could be – _could_ being the keyword – something out there that none of you are prepared for. _Something_ certainly caught Bravo team by surprise."

Before Wesker could continue, Brad cut in uneasily. "Like what?"

Through the sunglasses, Wesker's pale eyes bore into the pilot's until Brad piped down. "Things that are mutated, changed from what they should be. Things that have lost the ability to reason and can only mindlessly attack. Be prepared to see some ugly things out there, because if Bravo team has walked into what I think they walked into, we'll be going in after them soon and it's not going to be pretty. I won't lie to you: some of you could easily die. That's a risk you take every time you go on a mission as part of this Service, but that is especially true now, because now you're not dealing with _humans_."

Of course, that only served to make Brad even more anxious. That was unfortunate, to tighten the poor man's nerves so much, but it was better that they all know more of what to expect. Joseph had blanched, especially the way Wesker emphasized his last word, but looked just as determined as the other three. Good. He had trained them to be the elites of the R.P.D. and given them as much of a forewarning as he thought would be effective without causing a panic or making them disbelieve them; now he just had to trust that they would be able to make it. He had more confidence in them than he did Bravo team, to be honest; Alpha, as a whole, was the more experienced and skilled team. He knew at least two would make it: ever tenacious and resourceful, Chris and Jill both were made of sterner stuff than to be bothered by a few infected.

No more transmissions made it through. Bravo team was officially in deep shit. It was time for Alpha to come dig them out of it, and hopefully not fall into the very same trap.

There, in the middle of the woods, was the crumpled metal of Bravo team's chopper, looking like a piece of aluminum foil carelessly tossed away. Inside it was a mangled corpse. Joseph recoiled in horror, retching, as much from the foul smell of decay lingering about as to the sight of the former pilot. The rest maintained grim silence, until a low growling suddenly erupted into savage snarls, accompanied by shrieks of pain. Wesker ran for the source of the screams, recognizing Joseph's voice, forcing himself to hasten when gunshots rang out. Chris and Jill materialized, running for their lives with several Cerberi in pursuit; one launched itself at the pair. Automatically, Wesker's handgun honed in on the former dog's head and fired; he felt a moment's satisfaction when the Cerberus immediately flopped to the ground, but there was no time for self-congratulations.

As they bolted from the remaining Cerberi, Wesker weighed the options in his mind. If there were infected roaming the forest, what were the chances that the nearby mansion was inhabited? Since it was technically part of the research complex, though only an edifice to fool observers, it should be safer than outside; given, of course, that the outbreak hadn't originated in the facility itself and bled out into the surrounding forest. But this was a valuable facility, home to a lot of pivotal research, so pains should have been taken to protect it and its workers from the viruses they tested. They were headed toward the mansion anyway, and it would be easier to regroup when they were out of the forest. At least they'd be getting away from the Cerberi.

So Wesker headed for the mansion and the others followed, unaware that he was taking them somewhere specific. They were just following him because he was their leader, and anywhere was better than where the Cerberi were. They came up to the mansion, and no one hesitated to follow as Wesker ran up to the door and threw it open, hustling them all inside.

Splitting up was probably a bad idea with God knew what sorts of infected wandering around, but it would cover more ground faster. So they went their separate ways, each looking for the lost Bravo team members – Wesker's search, however, was as much trying to figure out what the hell happened here as it was finding the lost S.T.A.R.S. officers. He figured that most of them would probably die, given they had gone into an outbreak situation completely unawares. And if this mess was more than just an accidental outbreak, as he had a sneaking suspicion it was, even more reason that Bravo would end up dead.

Even though he knew his way around the mansion, it was still a struggle to navigate, given that zombies had a habit of showing up at the most inopportune times. They were easy to deal with, given you knew the trick to making them stay down and had good enough aim to make lots of headshots; it was the faster, more powerful crimson heads, Hunters and such ilk that were harder to deal with.

In bits and pieces, Wesker managed to find enough evidence scattered through the mansion and its environs to put together the story, or at least some of it. _Something_ had released the t-virus, though he didn't know what that happened to be; it had obviously been festering in here for as long as – probably longer than – the R.P.D. had been getting reports of the murders. That explained the abundance of infected, but why all these loose B.O.W.? It made no sense. Even in the chaos of an outbreak, it shouldn't have released this many experimental creatures. It had to have been deliberate. That just begged the question, again, who set them loose? Who caused the outbreak in the first place?

Even worse, how long would it take for the outbreak to spread? Cerberi already were loose in the forest, it wouldn't take long for the virus to reach Raccoon. With this many infected and this much chaos, the Incinerator Facility would be swamped, incapable of processing as many bodies as fast as they'd have to in order to contain this. The infection would get to Raccoon one way or another.

Wesker was snooping through one of the labs when he heard snuffling outside. He held very still in the hopes that whatever B.O.W. was out there would lose interest, but the Hunter poked its head curiously into the room, promptly spotted the human, and proceeded to do what it was designed to do: attack and maim and kill. A few shots from his handgun badly injured the beast, and blinded by pain, it swiped one broad paw at him. The random blow caught Wesker by surprise and slammed him into one of the lab benches, momentum making his body slide from one end of the bench clear to the other, toppling over all the equipment in his path. Wesker dispatched the wounded Hunter with another few shots and picked himself up gingerly from the bench top, only then to notice the smear of blood and purplish liquid streaked across the surface. _Then_, the pain having been dulled by adrenaline, he felt the sting on the underside of his wrist from where he'd smashed a vial against it during his inglorious slide.

He swore colorfully – had any of his team been there, they would doubtlessly stared in shock, for Wesker made a point never to use profanity – and dashed to the eye wash station he knew was located in one corner. _Shit. Damn, damn damn! What was that? I didn't recognize it! It could've been anything!_ Wesker was as close to panicking as he'd been since childhood as he frantically rinsed the deep gashes, ignoring the pain, and pried the few slivers of glass free. Then he tore a strip of fabric from his uniform shirt and made a very rough, temporary bandage to staunch the bleeding and close the wound. _Not that it matters now. God only knows what was in that vial. If it was one of the experimental viruses, I'm as good as dead. If it was something else, my chances of survival rise to about fifty percent. Even if it was nothing I have to worry about, I'm in the middle of an outbreak zone. This whole place is saturated with t-virus. I am definitely dead._

Soon, though, logic returned and overrode the near-panic. Like he'd told the rest of the team, the chances of death going into this situation had been high. No one in S.T.A.R.S. was unaware of the risk of death in any of their missions. No one in S.T.A.R.S. was especially afraid of death, in the abstract, or else they wouldn't be putting themselves into deadly situations. But that was easy to tell yourself when you were safe in the office, and harder to believe when you just smashed a filled vial in an Umbrella lab during an outbreak while fighting off a Hunter. He returned to the lab bench – after finding a pair of gloves, though that was a moot precaution at that point – and collected the vial shards, hoping to identify what it was he'd just had introduced to his bloodstream. The markings on the slivers of glass as he pieced them together made all the blood drain from his face – this was a virus, all right; one of the experimental strains William had been working with in his coveted Gene virus project. _Fuck._

Regardless, Wesker swallowed back the anxiety over his still-throbbing wrist, reloaded his Beretta, and moved on. No use crying over spilt milk. He'd deal with the repercussions of that accident when he came up, but right now the priorities were to make sure his team didn't get themselves killed, find Bravo, and get the hell out of here, in that order.

After more exploring through the facility's rabbit-warren of corridors, he ran – quite literally – into Barry. The weapons specialist was sprinting down the hall from a particularly persistent crimson head, and as he rounded the corner, he collided with Wesker, who was trotting toward the commotion he heard. There was a moment of confusion as the two men figured out what had just happened, during which the crimson that had been pursuing Barry came up from behind with claws ready to tear into his vulnerable back. Wesker saw the attack coming and raised his handgun; Barry gave him a shocked look to see his captain aim his weapon at him, but instinct served the man well. He promptly dropped out of the way of the Beretta, and just in time, for the crimson had been moments from tearing into his flesh. Instead, it took a bullet point-blank to the face, which effectively destroyed its brain. The crimson collapsed bonelessly to the floor – right on top of the still-crouching Barry. Giving a disgusted grunt, Barry shrugged the corpse off of him and stood, lightly kicking the limp crimson distastefully before turning back to Wesker. "Thanks, Captain."

Wesker waved the thanks aside. "Do you know where Valentine and Redfield are?"

Barry half-shrugged. "The last time I saw Chris was when we came into the God-forsaken place, but I could take you to the place I left Jill. We split up to see if one of us could find you or Chris."

"Lead on," Wesker urged, and both men broke into a trot. At least Jill was surviving, not that he'd thought she would go down easily. It made his heart a little easier to know that, with any luck, he'd be able to see Jill again. If he didn't manage to get out of this mess alive, at least he could leave her with a last image of him that was more flattering than whatever bloody end he might meet.

Barry slowed to a walk when they reached a certain intersection of hallways, saying that this was where he'd parted ways with Jill. There were two other paths that she could've taken; Wesker told Barry to take the rightmost and keep looking for either Chris or Jill, and he would do the same on the other path. When Barry was out of sight, Wesker advanced warily down the hall, all his instincts telling him some other being was nearby, living or non. He strained his ears and heard slow, cautious steps; not a zombie, then, or a crimson head. He rounded the corner with Beretta held ready to fire until the outline of the other registered in his mind, then he relaxed as relief flooded his system. It was Jill! Stepping up to her – she was facing away from him, though her peripheral vision was probably able to pick up on his presence – Wesker reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "Jill, are you-"

Jill had been so focused on what was in front of her that she hadn't noticed the dark silhouette in her peripheral vision, so when something touched her shoulder, it came as a rude surprise to her high-strung nerves. She whirled with knife in hand raised to chop at whatever was attacking her. Wesker's quick reflexes saved him from being stabbed as he released Jill's shoulder and skipped back a pace. "Woah, easy, Jill! It's me!"

As soon as she recognized the one that had touched her as captain Wesker, the knife immediately dropped from Jill's hand. "Jesus fucking Christ, Albert, you scared the shit out of me!" she hissed, clutching her chest with one hand.

Wesker stepped forward again and gathered Jill into his arms. "I'm sorry, dear heart, I didn't mean to startle you," he murmured.

She sighed heavily and locked her own arms around his ribcage. "Well you did. And you nearly got yourself cut for it. That should be a lesson: don't sneak up on me!"

He couldn't help but chuckle as he pulled back, though still keeping his hands on her shoulders. "I'll be sure to remember that in the future."

Jill cupped her hand over one of the black-gloved ones resting on her shoulder. "Anyway, what happened to Chris and Barry? Did Barry manage to find you?"

"Yes, then we split up to look for either you or Chris." Wesker chewed pensively at a split it his lower lip. It was bothersome that no one had seen or heard anything from the marksman since they entered the mansion, but of all the members of Alpha team, Chris was easily the most capable. If any of them could make it through, it would be Chris. Still, the top priority remained to round up the rest of his team and get them all in one place. With so few left and so much ground that they could get lost in, it was better to regroup to make sure nobody else suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth.

"Well, I guess all we can do is keep looking, right?" Jill said, then knelt to retrieve her knife and return it to its sheath.

Since she was entirely correct, Wesker saw no reason to reply, and simply moved on, with Jill trotting along at his side. The gashes on his wrist were inflamed, now, and throbbed with every beat of his heart; there was no doubt about it, it was infected. Though with what remained to be seen. Wesker had a sneaking suspicion that he didn't want to know. Jill finally seemed to notice the makeshift bandage around his wrist and tugged on the offending hand, concerned. "What's this?"

More sharply than he intended, Wesker jerked his hand out of her grasp. "It's just a cut," he replied curtly. "I'll be fine." But Jill could tell by his tone that he was more worried about it than he let on. She didn't get a chance to continue badgering him about it, though, for at that moment they rounded another turn and walked straight into a batch of infected. Among them was a crimson head, which promptly made a nuisance of itself by getting in their faces with rapid swipes of its elongated claws.

They had walked right into a dead end, and from back the way they came, they both heard the sounds of another crimson head approaching. Wesker was slammed into one of the doors on the short hall, causing it to creak with protest and slide open; he staggered into the newly opened room, followed quickly by Jill, who was being set upon by both crimson heads at once. As soon as he looked around, Wesker noticed the huge cryotank and the behemoth of a B.O.W. it contained, and cursed under his breath. "Jill, we need to be anywhere but this room," he remarked tersely.

"Too late for that, we're stuck," she retorted as the infected from the hall packed into the door, all trying to get through it at once. It gave them several easy shots, but once the deadlock was destroyed, some of the zombies managed to worm into the room. Followed, of course, by the two crimson heads that clambered unceremoniously over the other zombies.

The room quickly fell to chaos as both S.T.A.R.S. officers were set upon by a crimson head apiece, along with a number of normal infected. Those had a habit of closing in so tightly that the humans had no room to move, and became more vulnerable to their normally easy to avoid lunges. Jill sent a number of the infected surrounding her crashing into the computer panel against the wall, and soon joined them herself after a vicious backhanded swipe from her crimson. All of a sudden the cryotank began to drain; Wesker snarled a string of curses and began working his way through the zombie throng to get between the wakening Tyrant and Jill. Jill was rather oblivious to the tank, being far too busy dealing with the now-dwindling crowd of infected, the bulk of which seemed to have turned their focus to her after Wesker took out the two crimsons – as much by luck as judgment – and a good number of normal zombies.

Between them, Wesker and Jill shot down the last zombies, and none too soon for the Tyrant to come to its senses. By now Jill had noticed it – it was hard to miss, being the dominant feature of the room now that it was cleared of infected – and stared in fascinated horror at the hulking goliath. Wesker's left hand was practically useless, such was the pain and inflammation in the joint, but he needed only one hand to aim his Beretta. He didn't shoot, though, not wanting to rouse the Tyrant's ire prematurely.

"What the hell is that thing?" Jill asked softly, mostly to herself.

"Umbrella's crowning achievement," Wesker told her, scorn dripping from his voice. "More so than first-aid spray or any of its other products."

The Tyrant moved. It heard beating hearts other than its own, smelled spilled blood mixed with fear and sweat, and immediately locked onto the sources of these sensations. Blood's coppery tang saturated the air, but the two humans exuded their own pheromones, and it was on that and on their heartbeats that the Tyrant focused. Wesker was still standing between Jill and the hulking Tyrant. She saw the monster's deformed head point directly at Wesker, saw the captain's grimly determined stance, how he held his Beretta loosely in his good hand. She immediately grasped what was going to happen next: the Tyrant was going to claim its first victim. It was newly awakened; the two humans were exhausted from constant battles against infected.

Then, she heard footsteps – three pairs – pounding down the hall toward them. Wesker did too. "Dear heart, don't let them come in here. Tell them to turn around and then go with them," he said quietly, with the same even, calm tone everyone had come to associate with Captain Wesker.

_Fuck that!_ There was no time to voice her defiance, so instead she simply came up next to him and raised her Beretta toward the Tyrant's face, but her wrist was suddenly gripped fiercely in Wesker's injured hand, so that she could feel the sticky blood soaking the bandage. The lacerations had never been able to properly close, as much as he'd been using his hand, so it hadn't stopped bleeding, which meant that the blood had saturated much of the bandage and had begun trickling down his hand. Wesker forced her to lower her gun and elbowed her sharply in the chest, shoving her back behind him again. "That's an order, Valentine!" he snarled.

Time was up. The Tyrant's oversized left arm shot forward with such blinding speed, Jill didn't have time to react as it plunged into Wesker's abdomen, easily piercing flesh and bone, to protrude bloodied from his back. Chris, Barry and Rebecca had sprinted into the room just in time to witness this. A weak, strangled cough escaped from Wesker's lips as the Tyrant lifted his body up until his feet left the floor; he slumped forward over the sharp talons and, as the blood and life drained from his body, lifted the handgun clenched in his good hand. It seemed to take all his remaining strength to touch the muzzle of the gun to the Tyrant's disfigured face, and then to pull the trigger. The creature gave a rasping bellow of pain as its skull was shattered by the point-blank shot, staggering to one side drunkenly, and on reflex alone slung Wesker's body away from it. He hit the floor, rolled onto his back from the momentum, and was still.

Jill would have liked to fall to her knees and howl in anguish, but Chris' hand gripping her shoulder and gunshots erupting all around reminded her that there was still a Tyrant loose in the room, and from there her survival instincts took over. She could – and would – mourn later, but right now it was best to make sure lived long enough to do that. There was a part of her that felt like it too had died, and wanted nothing more than to just let the Tyrant kill her, but the rest of her sternly told that part to stop being an idiot. So while tears streamed down her cheeks, Jill gritted her teeth and took aim at the injured Tyrant. It was surprisingly easy to redirect her grief, turn it into anger, and then take out that anger on the reason for her grief. Even if it killed her, she'd make sure this damn Tyrant never got out of the facility.

The four S.T.A.R.S. officers battled the Tyrant to its death. The massive head wound Wesker's Beretta had dealt hadn't killed it, but apparently had done damage to its spinal column so that it limped and staggered after them rather than charging at full tilt. Eventually, "Chickenheart" finally showed back up, guilty over his desertion, and dropped them a rocket launcher. Chris was the one who snatched up the hefty weapon, but Jill requested the honors; one look at her expression, and Chris wisely relinquished the rocket launcher to her.

Once the Tyrant was dead, it was agreed that they should trigger the facility's self-destruction sequence. But before they did that, they had one last thing to retrieve. Jill led the way back to the cryotank room, tears again etching channels down her face, and insisted that they carry their ex-Captain's body out of the facility. He should be laid to rest properly, and not left to be destroyed like the monster that had taken his life. Barry and Chris carried the limp, mangled body between them back up to where Brad and Rebecca waited in the chopper, and gently put him on the floor of the helicopter; each of them took off their vest for a makeshift shroud, after pulling the tattered vest from Wesker's body and folding it. This was all done in heavy silence that was not broken until the facility's self-destruct system had been activated and they were all sitting in the helicopter. The deafening roar of the chopper's blades drowned out any sounds its passengers made, including the sobs that Jill finally allowed herself.

Chris put an arm over her shoulders, and Jill gratefully took the wordless invitation, turning her face into his shoulder and wrapping her arms around him. Rebecca looked on mournfully, tears glittering in her eyes as well although she'd barely known Alpha team's captain; Barry stared broodingly at the floor, his throat tight, but showing no outward hint of his feelings. Chris just let Jill cry into his shoulder – after all, that was what friends were for – and kept his expression impassive despite the lump in his throat that just wouldn't go away no matter how many times he swallowed. He was surprised by the intensity of Jill's grief, wondered at what it meant, but promptly put that out of his mind. That didn't matter now. He could get the full story out of her once she had recovered somewhat.

By the time the chopper touched down on the landing pad out next to the firing range at the station, the sun was peering over the horizon, bringing with it dawn and the chance to forget the night's horrors. All those who had been through the mansion were shaken by what they had experienced, and as Jill's racking sobs finally tapered off into irregularly hitched breathing, Chris knew some of them would be forever scarred. Out of the eleven Raccoon Police Department Special Tactics and Rescue Service officers who went into the mansion, only four returned alive. Brad came out of the cockpit to lean against the wall, expressionless as he looked from face to face. "Now what?" he asked softly. "We're all that's left of S.T.A.R.S. now."

"I wouldn't put it past whoever caused that whole mess to come after us," Chris said darkly. "We were obviously not meant to leave that place alive. After all we saw, we know way too much for Umbrella to risk letting us live long enough to expose them."

"But, we blew up the facility, maybe they'll think we got caught in the explosion," Rebecca offered diffidently.

"That's possible, but unlikely." Jill had finally unfolded herself from her ball of misery and joined the conversation. "Chris is right. The safest thing to do would be to lay low for a while. It'd be best if we scattered, too, to make it harder for them to track us down."

"Barry, you should move your whole family," Chris advised. Clenching his fists at the thought of someone trying to use his family to get to him, Barry nodded solemnly and stated that he had a friend in Canada who would hopefully help.

It was agreed by all five that they would stick together for the time being while they started the slow process of recovering. Being on the run at some point in the foreseeable future wouldn't help, but they all were of the opinion that until they had a little time for the dust to settle, they would get nothing constructive accomplished. Frayed nerves needed a chance to calm, and hurts needed a little time to start closing up. Chris kept his arm around Jill's shoulder.

As the shaken, weary S.T.A.R.S. officers finally climbed out of the helicopter, Jill lingered behind. She didn't feel ready to face the world just yet. She shooed Chris off with the promise that she'd be right behind them; thankfully, he understood her desire for solitude, and acquiesced. She was left alone in the chopper. The group as a whole had decided that they would all chip in for a funeral service for their fallen Captain, but for now the body was left out of sight from the rest of the department until they could get everything worked out, and Alpha team's helicopter was as good a place as any since only they had access to it.

Slowly, Jill walked to the back of the chopper. All that was visible in daybreak's half-light was the shapeless blur of white, red, green, blue and yellow of their tactical vests covering Wesker's body. Jill noticed that one of them had shifted, slid to the side, during the flight back to the station. She crouched next to the colorful mound and, with shaking hands, lifted Rebecca's white vest off Wesker's lower torso, finding a way to arrange it to better cover up the gruesome injury that had killed him. But, as she held the red-stained Kevlar vest, she noticed something: the gaping wound looked smaller. She put the vest aside and looked more closely. Yes, it was definitely smaller – the raw lip of the wound was further forward than the tattered edge of the hole in his uniform shirt. In fact, it seemed to have halfway closed over by now. Jill pushed back the frayed uniform to examine the rest of Wesker's body and noticed that compared to the skin on the undamaged part of his abdomen, the new skin was lighter in tone and much softer.

Jill couldn't believe what she was seeing. Just to make sure she wasn't jumping to an impossible conclusion, she pulled his left arm out and turned it over; sure enough, when she peeled off the bandage – the blood had dried on it and made the fabric stick to the skin – and looked at the flesh underneath, there were only a few thin, white scars etched into his wrist. Jill looked from the faint scarring back to the gaping abdominal wound and noted that where there had been shredded sections of intestine shortly after the wound had been received, now there was an ugly scab-like layer over what should be exposed innards; doubtlessly, the bulk of that scabbing was dried blood, since he'd lost more than enough of it.

Was he actually _healing_? It was supposed to be impossible – he was dead. But then, she'd thought that monsters like Tyrants were nothing but fantasy, until just yesterday. There had to be some explanation for this, dead bodies didn't go around healing themselves for no reason. Jill had to catch herself, then, and firmly remind herself that the chances were high that this wasn't real. Maybe she'd fallen asleep sometime during the chopper ride and this was a dream – God knew she was tired enough. Or, if she was awake, then the fatigue was catching up to her, making her see something that wasn't there but that she so hoped for. The why mattered less at that point than did the fact that she refused to let herself hope that what she was seeing was real. If she did that, and it came to nothing… her heart had already been broken once today, she didn't need another letdown. Besides, her logical side argued, it just _wasn't possible_. Dead things did not suddenly start healing and acting like living things. Sure she'd just fought off a veritable army of zombies, but they were infected with a virus, and at any rate what she was seeing now was completely different from the infected in the mansion.

A deep sigh worked its way past Jill's lips as she stood and turned to leave. She had better get away before she started imaging the damn body _moving_ or something like that –

Under the vests covering his body, Wesker twitched.

Jill froze.

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**Musebinge Musebinge Musebinge. I stayed up **_**all damn night**_** finishing the last chapter and typing most of this chapter. Right now I haven't had a wink of sleep in nearly eighteen hours, which is hardly the world record I know, but for the sleep-loving Desert that's not good.  
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	3. From the Ashes

**This started out being fairly close to the game series, but as time goes on it veers more and more – what do you expect, when you've overhauled the main villain? Heh. Not a lot of emphasis was placed on Wesker's actually being dead and the process of being revived in the games, which bugs me. I mean, he was just **_**dead**_**. That's not something you just walk away from. So that will be remedied here. And give us lots more angst and fluff~  
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It had been an overly dramatic, stupidly heroic move to make, but Wesker had made himself the Tyrant's first victim, in the hopes that he would be its _only_ victim. He knew one handgun bullet, even from point-blank range, wouldn't be enough to kill the beast. But he did know that like anything else infected with the t-virus, the Tyrant's central nervous system was very delicate; damage in the right places would at least impair its functioning. So he had aimed as carefully as he could, given the circumstances. If some tiny shred of his luck still held, it would do enough that the rest of his team would be able to finish the monster before it could kill again.

It had taken much of the strength left in his dying body to aim his Beretta and fire; the recoil from the shot was too much, and the handgun flipped out of his failing grasp. Then he was slung aside in the Tyrant's throes of agony and promptly forgotten. Wesker hoped Jill wouldn't let her grief overcome her logic – what an empty sacrifice that would have made his actions. But he knew Jill was a resilient, strong woman. She had made it this far, she would pull through. She had to. For the sake of his peace of mind, such that it was at the moment, he had to believe she would make it.

All those concerns were soon subordinated, however, by a much more pressing development. He hadn't known what to expect as he lay dying – perhaps an all-encompassing numbness – but he certainly hadn't expected this much _pain_. Fiery, blinding agony was radiating out from the gaping wound in his abdomen, growing stronger with every second, until his whole body was consumed by it. So intense was the pain that it bled over into his other senses: a hollow roar resounded in his ears and drowned out the clamor of battle, getting louder and louder as the pain worsened; his vision, blurred by agony, was swallowed up by a bright whiteness. This was no light at the end of the tunnel.

Soon, he lost all awareness of where he was, what he had been doing – he even forgot who he was. Nothing mattered but this nova of agony that consumed his entire existence and made all else insignificant. And it wasn't even done. The pain just kept worsening. But he had reached the limit of his capacity to comprehend it, and so pain became numbness. The deafening roar faded into silence. The blinding white dimmed into blackness.

At first, this was bliss. He hung suspended in the blessed vacuum, grateful for escape from the sensory overload he'd just endured. He wanted nothing more than to give himself up, to simply let the nothingness consume him. Anything was better than that horrible agony. Like diving into cold water on a hot day, the void drained away every bit of feeling and left him at peace.

He didn't know how long it had been since slipping into oblivion. It could have been seconds; it could have been an eternity. Time had no meaning in this place – nothing did. There was no light, there was no sound. There was nothing to suggest that anything had ever even existed.

But something was wrong. The abyss was hungry. It was a vacuum, defined by the simple fact that _nothing_ existed there; so when he fell into its bottomless depths, it immediately began trying to make him part of itself, by destroying him. It was so gradual that his comprehension of it was delayed, but the void was devouring him. He felt it nibbling at him, eating away at his sanity. It was then that he realized that this place was not the welcome respite he had originally considered it.

There was no escape. There was nothing. No light, no sound, no touch, no taste. Desperate, he tried to find something to latch onto, something to anchor him and make the void retreat. But he found nothing. He had gone from one extreme to the other: from something that flooded him with too much to bear to something that took away everything and left him hollow. He realized that there was one thing worse than the pain: this emptiness. He wished for that agony again. At least the pain was real, tangible.

Just when he thought the void would claim him, finally, something happened. He felt a faint tug. Through the all-consuming abyss, something was pulling on him. He latched onto whatever was pulling on him. It pulled again, and he eagerly followed it. Another tug, and then another. They got gradually stronger with every repetition, becoming easier to follow, and as he went after the mysterious tugging, he became aware of something else. Along with the tug was a sound. Quiet at first, then stronger. It was a soothing rhythm. _Lub-dup. Lub-dup. Lub-dup._ It wrapped around him and sank into him, freeing him from the vacuum; it became part of him.

With the sound, shortly after came feeling. The feeling wasn't comfortable. It was a stinging, pin-tingle feeling that originated from his core and spread outward; but this was nothing compared to the earlier pain, and anyway, at least it was something. And it left behind warmth and sensation. Soon it reached the edges of him and disappeared. Still the lub-dup sound persisted, slow and steady. He could tell now that it originated from the same place the tingling feeling had. By now the void was gone, but all was still black; however, that didn't bother him. Unlike the abyss' uncanny, absolute black, this seemed like a more natural darkness. He could live with that.

Now he could hear something else. Another lub-dup. This one was slightly faster, and it didn't resonate deep within like the first lub-dup did. It was coming from somewhere outside of him. There were other sounds all around, but none of those were very close or seemed to hold very much importance, so he focused on the other lub-dup. He felt something more as well: touches on his body. Feather-light on his collar, slightly more firm under his jaw. Something wispy tickled his face and neck. More sounds, from the same general area as the second lub-dup.

Jill was kneeling next to Wesker's body, torn between denial and relief. He had moved. She had pulled back her own vest from his face and upper body – swallowing around the lump in her throat as she did – and placed her hand hesitantly against the exposed skin over his collarbone. It felt warm. More than warm – his skin felt feverishly hot. She reached up and touched two fingers against the pulse-point on his throat, and against her fingertips, his carotid artery pressed rhythmically as if nothing had ever been awry.

Jill nearly fainted. Wesker was alive! She didn't know how or why, but that didn't matter. He was alive. Tears beaded in her eyes again, but these were tears of relief. He was alive. He was alive. He was alive. She leaned over Wesker's still unmoving form and pressed her lips to his. His whole body was spattered with blood – most of it his own – but she was far from caring about that. "Oh Albert," she breathed, overwhelmed by emotion. It was then that she noticed that although his heart beat, he wasn't breathing.

Concern fluttered in her heart and she sat back up, surveying Wesker's peaceful countenance. Going just by appearance, he looked like he was still dead: one needed to feel the warmth of his body and the beat of his heart to know that life had returned. Jill rested one hand against his chest uncertainly – should she try CPR to make him breathe? "Albert?"

That just begged the question, how aware was he? He had a pulse, sure, but that was all so far. She swallowed hard as a new thought occurred to her: what if he didn't regain consciousness, or if he did, what if he didn't remember? She hadn't seen any sense or recognition in any of the infected in the mansion, and they too had been brought back from the dead. What if he turned out as another one of them? It was entirely possible, considering that they had been in the thick of an outbreak zone for several hours, and he'd had that open wound. If anything was a magnet for infection it was an open wound.

"Albert, please, come back to me," Jill murmured, her voice thick with tears. "But come back as yourself. I don't want to have to kill you again, myself." If it became evident that he was only to return as one of the living dead, she would have no choice but to eliminate him. His mind and self would have been lost in death; she knew that. Even so, it would be so hard to destroy the body of what had once been her lover.

A faint, dull ache was building in his muscles. It was laughable compared to the intense agony from before, but at the same time it wasn't pleasant. In his chest, he got the feeling that something should be happening that wasn't. The ache increased and his lungs practically begged to be put to use; he was unsure of what was supposed to be happening, when his body evidently decided to take matters into its own metaphorical hands. His diaphragm expanded, pulling his lungs open so that air could rush eagerly into them, and he breathed for the first time in his new body.

Immediately, he was disoriented by the smells that accosted his nose; the most dominant scent was overpowering and pervasive, and tantalizing. That coppery tang, salt-sweet and so tempting, seemed to be everywhere. He could almost not smell anything else for it, and part of him disregarded the other smells as far less important than this delightful aroma. Where was it coming from? He _had_ to find out. The scent brought to mind how empty his stomach was, and how very nice whatever was giving it off would taste. He instinctively parted his lips and breathed through his mouth, tasting the air hungrily.

More sounds cut in over the second lub-dup rhythm and something touched his face again. He had realized that the touches, sounds, and some of the other smells besides the tasty one indicated that there was another presence nearby; it had been around since he was pulled from the abyss, but that didn't make it any less alien. And now that his muscles were working again and following his commands, instinct told him that this other shouldn't be touching him. His eyes snapped open so he could _see_ the other, but as with when he'd taken his first breath, he was promptly overloaded with input. Something was _bright_. He half-lidded his eyes against the angular blob of morning sunlight coming into the chopper from the door Jill had left open. Thankfully, though, as far back as they were, it was still fairly dim and he wasn't blinded. Once his eyes had adjusted some to the light, he opened them back up and searched for the other presence. He didn't have to look long, since the other was right there by his shoulder.

The other gasped and leaned back slightly, widening her eyes, while surprise tensed her body up. He immediately picked up on the other's agitation and searched the surroundings with his eyes for the source of her discomfiture. He saw nothing that looked immediately dangerous and returned his gaze to the other. She was staring at him – right into his eyes, in fact – and he got the impression that _he_ was the reason she had suddenly reacted. He looked at the stranger and tried to figure out why she had become fearful, for he could tell by the way her heartbeat had sped up that she was frightened. He could smell it, too. The smell caught his interest, similarly to the delicious metallic smell that was still very prominent in the air, though not as pointedly.

When Wesker had finally taken a breath, Jill had sighed with relief and put one hand against his cheek, whispering encouragements to him. She didn't know what else to do. Then his eyes flickered and eased open; she was shocked – and, admittedly, frightened as well – by the unnatural gold and red of his eyes, and snatched her hand back quickly. It was proof that he was infected, though that fact had been effectively proven by his return to life after the Tyrant's fatal attack. Wesker's eyes darted around briefly before settling back on her, locking gazes. It was nerve-racking to be the focus of such an intense stare from those uncanny eyes, and as she stared back, quite unable to tear her eyes from his, she felt a pang of sadness. There was no recognition in those red-gold eyes, and no cognizance. It was like looking into the eyes of a confused, wary animal. Slowly, so as not to startle him, she reached down to touch his chest. Wesker slid up into a sitting position to pull out from under her hand before she could make the contact, watching her movements keenly.

While all this had been going on inside the helicopter, life had been going on as per usual in the R.P.D. station, which meant officers going out to the firing range to practice their aim. There was usually one or two who liked to do so early in the morning when they would get more solitude. From the gun range, which was just adjacent to the landing pad, a pistol fired. As Jill watched Wesker tensed, his head snapping in the direction of the noise. Before she could try to reassure him, before she could even blink, he disappeared. One moment he was there, but before the echoes of the gunshot could die out, he was gone. Jill gaped, shocked, at where Wesker had been just a moment earlier. _How? How did he do that? More importantly, where did he go? Shit!_ Jill leaped out of the helicopter and raced in the direction she hoped Wesker had gone – it made sense that if he'd been startled by the noise, then he would go in the opposite direction. So she ran toward the wall of trees that cupped the station as fast as she could go, which was admittedly not that impressive given how fatigued her body still was.

He made it to the edge of the landing field and into the forest's welcoming dimness before the burst of energy that fueled his sprint gave out. From there he ran at a more humanly possible pace, dodging through the trees, until he was well out of sight of the station. Only then did he stop and lean against the tall, sturdy column of a tree trunk, breathing lightly, one hand held up to cover his eyes. Suddenly going out into the open had nearly blinded him, since his eyes had been adjusted to the dim helicopter's interior, but that hadn't been enough to halt his sprint. Now, under the shelter of the trees, the light was more bearable. He stood with his shoulder propped up against the tree and tried to sort out just what the bloody hell was going on. The unexpected, deafeningly loud gunshot had startled him into fleeing, and something – perhaps the shock of the sudden noise – had triggered something loose from his mind. He began to remember and to think, not just react. A deluge of memories flooded his mind all at once, throwing him into further confusion. Things were suddenly happening quickly; after being caught up in pain and then nothingness for who knew how long, it was no little bit disorienting.

He heard the woman's footsteps as she stumbled through the woods after him. She called his name periodically, her voice strained with confusion and worry. He ignored her. He didn't want her to come to him. He needed to be left alone. He was confused and uneasy, vulnerable – he didn't want anything around him. But the woman spotted him as a splash of black against the gray-brown bark. She slowed to a walk as she drew closer and halted several feet away – wise of her. "Albert?" she inquired softly.

He gave no indication of having heard her. She stepped closer hesitantly, but when he continued to ignore her, she closed the distance between them. "I know you can hear me, Albert, but can you understand me?" There was sorrow in her voice, well-concealed but there. He could hear it, and yes, he could understand. But he wasn't about to tell her that.

Jill reached out to touch his upper arm, but before her fingers made contact, suddenly Wesker was gripping her wrist. It was the same sort of movement as before, too rapid for her eyes to follow. He had averted his face, since the hand restraining hers was the one he had formerly used to shield his eyes, and was squeezing her wrist harshly, though he seemed unaware of how painfully tight his grip was. Jill grunted quietly against the pain, but dared not try to move, not knowing how he would react. That soft vocalization drew his gaze unwillingly to her face, though she couldn't see his eyes on her.

He let her go and shoved Jill's arm back at her, the force behind it making her take a step back, turned, and strode away from her. His shoulders were stiff with tension that was nearly tangible and Jill could tell that it was an effort for him not to break into a sprint again. Hope lifted her heart a little. She went after him again, forced to break into a trot to keep up with his quick, long strides, calling his name out once more. Despite her best efforts, Wesker outpaced her and melted into the trees once more, but Jill wasn't about to give up yet.

She found him again not long after losing sight of him, and the image she was confronted with made her heart lurch. He had slumped into a crouch against another tree, curled into a loose fetal position, with both gloved hands knotted so tight in his hair that she wondered he hadn't pulled them out by the roots yet. As she looked on, a subtle tremor shivered through his frame, and he hunched further down into himself. Distress radiated palpably from him, and the harsh contrast between this and the confident, cool Wesker she had fallen in love with brought tears to Jill's eyes. Before she knew what she was doing, Jill had dropped to the ground next to him and pulled Wesker to her, wrapping one arm around his torso and cupping the other around the back of his neck, cradling him against her body. "It's all right, love. You're okay now. You're all right."

When Jill pulled him into her embrace, murmuring soothingly, that seemed to be all that was needed for the levee to break. Wesker locked his arms around her and clung like a drowning man to a life preserver, burying his face into her shoulder, as a violent shudder racked his frame. She held him, wordlessly stroking his hair, fighting back tears for his plight. It was heart-wrenching to see him so broken. But, at least this did prove that there was some humanity left in him, if he could react like this. It meant he still had emotions and he recognized her, for if he hadn't, she knew he wouldn't have allowed the contact; much less let himself have this breakdown with her so close.

Eventually, the shudders died down. He didn't loosen his grip on her, except to turn his head and press his lips against the side of her neck. "Dear heart," he breathed, voice husky and thick with emotion.

That was all it took. Now it was Jill's turn to break down; but her reasons were far different. This outburst was releasing all the stress that had been piling up on her nerves since Bravo team had gone out. Especially the stress of watching her beloved die right before her eyes. But he was back now; he was alive, and fully himself. The relief of that was nearly enough to make her faint. Wesker pulled her into his lap and held her, the same as she had just done for him. While sobs piled up and shook Jill's tired body, she soaked his tattered uniform with tears, and Wesker sat back and basked in the knowledge that there was at least one person in this world who wouldn't be put out – at least not for long – by his infection. If she could dissolve into tears in his arms after seeing him come back from the dead and do things no human ever could – if her affection and trust was that unconditional, then he could count on her to treat him no differently now than she had before.

How had he gotten so lucky?

He held her as the sobs continued. All the while, his new body reminded him urgently that it had had to expend a lot of energy and effort to heal up that gaping hole in his abdomen, and there was no getting around the need to eat even though he was no longer human. That fact was glaringly evident – his senses and reflexes were so much sharper, he was stronger, and going by Jill's earlier reaction, he looked different. There didn't seem to have been any major physiological changes – for which he was immensely grateful – but no infected ever showed no visible mutations. The viruses just didn't work that way. He just hoped he would be able to move through society without having to do too much to hide the truth.

Oh, but that was only one concern out of many about his rebirth, and far from the most pressing. Sure he was sane and stable now, but how long would that last? Would the virus eventually cause him to mutate? Would it pose a threat to the people around him? He may have been around during the early stages of Birkin's project, but he'd only been peripherally involved with it, so he really didn't know much about his G-virus or any of its ancestors. There was no telling, since the samples had all been drawn from that creature from the lab, Lisa Trevor – the researchers there had piled so many of their concoctions on her that her body was a viral soup. He wondered idly if Lisa had had a similar experience to his when attempts had been made to put her to sleep.

Thinking about that pitiable experiment made the bile rise in Wesker's throat, so he redirected his thoughts. Did all tyrants gain enhanced senses, or was what he experienced unique to whatever virus he had contracted? Everything was far, _far_ brighter and clearer now than it had been as a human. He could tell, just by comparison right now, that he would be able to see as well at night as humans saw at midday; and there seemed to be new colors added to his spectrum of visible light. Something similar to red in the same way orange was similar to yellow – he could only assume that was infrared – and something on the other side of purple, which he guessed was ultraviolet. It was strange to see the world through this new filter – so much more was visible now. Had the circumstances not been what they were it would have been enjoyable to just drink in all the new sights.

One thing that bothered him, though, was the smell of blood still hanging heavily in the air around them. Both his and Jill's uniforms were spattered with it, not to mention his skin was liberally coated by it. It was disconcerting to realize that its coppery tang made his mouth water. With that smell, Jill's heartbeat that he could hear very clearly, and having her pressed against him – not to mention how _hungry_ he was – all the newfound instincts that seemed to have come with his rebirth told him that there was something delectable sitting conveniently in his arms, all but begging to be consumed. This was not unexpected, but that didn't make it any less disgusting to the rational part of him that remained unchanged from humanity.

While Wesker had been contemplating these things, Jill's sobs tapered off and ended, but she remained exactly as she was, curled up in his lap with her face buried in the crook of his neck. "Albert…"

He tightened his arms around her. "Yes, dear heart?"

"That was stupid. Never, _ever_ do something like that ever again."

He snorted slightly into her hair. "I don't plan to. That wasn't the most pleasant process I've endured."

Jill pulled her face away and uncurled enough so that she could put both hands on either side of Wesker's face and look intently into his eyes. The new colors were unsettling, but she could still see the old Albert in his eyes; that was what really mattered. That was what she had been most afraid of losing. He returned her gaze, still a bit unsure how she would accept his rebirth at first, but to his relief, Jill seemed undaunted by the changes. Satisfied by the inspection, Jill closed the distance between their faces and captured his lips in a slow, fervent kiss, trying to convey just how glad she was that he was back.

Several moments later, in the distance, Wesker heard something. It was too faint for Jill to hear, but he could pick it up clearly: Chris' voice, calling Jill's name from the landing pad. He sounded concerned; no wonder, when both Jill and the body were gone. Wesker disentangled his lips from Jill's and murmured, "Chris is calling you, dear heart."

She looked confused for a moment – she couldn't hear anything of the sort, of course, but when she recalled Wesker's recent display of superhuman abilities, she took it as a given that his hearing was also improved. And so she – reluctantly – stood up and offered Wesker her hand to help him up. And although he needed no such assistance, he took her hand anyway, if only to maintain the contact between them. He knew they would have to part ways here, no matter how much it hurt him to bid his dear heart good-bye. He was 'dead', he didn't belong with them. S.T.A.R.S. was gone; they would all have to scatter, anyway, to avoid Umbrella's long-reaching arm. No doubt Chris or Jill had already figured that out.

Jill started to head back to the station, and Wesker let her fingers fall from his grasp, staying right where he stood. Jill noticed this and paused, looking back at him with a hurt puzzlement furrowing her brows. "Albert? Come on, we need to go back."

"_You_ need to go back, dear heart. I'm dead, remember? I don't belong in that world. You and the others have had enough dealings with the infected." She could clearly hear the sorrow in his voice and see it in his new red eyes as he took a step backwards, deeper into the woods. "I'm sorry, dear heart."

Jill's heart lurched, and she stepped closer to him. "No, Albert, please! Don't leave. Don't leave me, please. I just got you back." She reached for him, but Wesker averted his face so she couldn't see his pained expression.

"Chris is getting closer. Go on, dear heart. Forget me. You have a life to live, mine is over. It was over the moment I smashed the vial that held this virus, and I knew that. Why do you think I let the Tyrant kill me?" Tears glittered in the corners of Jill's eyes again, and Wesker hated himself for having to hurt her like this. He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, Jill. I love you." He turned on his heel and darted away, but only far enough to be out of sight before he returned to a normal speed. He couldn't keep up the sprint when all he really wanted to do was go back and scoop Jill up in his arms and never let her go. What other woman would accept what he'd become without batting an eye? There didn't exist anyone else who would do that. And he was running away from her.

"Albert!" Jill tried to follow, but in his sprint Wesker moved too fast to leave enough of a trace to pursue. She heard Chris moving through the trees behind her, doubtlessly attracted by the voices; she ignored him until Chris came up behind her and put both hands on her shoulders.

"Jill, what're you doing? Where is the bo–"

"He's alive, Chris, let me go! I need to find him. He can't leave me again! _Albert!_" Jill shrugged out of Chris' grip and took off at a run. There was no way in _hell_ she was letting Wesker slip away again after thinking she had lost him forever. Chris ran after her, wondering if the stress had made her start seeing things or something. Especially when Jill spotted a sliver of black and navy through the trees and took off after it, leaving Chris scrambling after her.

When she spotted him, Wesker tried to make his body break into a sprint again, but it and his heart betrayed him. His step faltered, enough that Jill could catch up and latch onto his arm. "Albert, please, don't go. You can't go. _Please_." She sounded so heartbroken, so plaintive, that Wesker couldn't pull away from her grasp. All the inhuman strength at his command, and he couldn't even move any more except to swallow hard.

In the meantime, all but forgotten, Chris walked up. He couldn't see Wesker's face, since the tyrant was facing away from both his former teammates, but Wesker's outline was familiar enough, and Chris was stunned. There was even that gaping hole in his uniform, but the flesh underneath looked unharmed and new. Was that _really_ Wesker? "Captain?" Chris asked uncertainly, warily.

Wesker noticeably flinched. "I'm not your captain anymore, Chris." Even if he wasn't supposed to be dead, S.T.A.R.S. was all but gone with only six members still living. "Jill, let me go. I'm sorry, but it's best that I disappear. You two are creative, you can think of something to tell the others about what happened to the body." But still he couldn't make himself move. He wouldn't be able to get away unless Jill voluntarily released him, and she seemed to notice that.

To say that Chris was confused about this new development would be an understatement, but he did know two things. He knew that he never wanted to see Jill as grief-stricken as she had been on the chopper ride back from the mansion, and that if Wesker just up and left, that was exactly what would happen. So he stepped up with Jill and put his hand on Wesker's shoulder; the feverish heat didn't seem to perturb him. "You'll always be the Captain," he said, squeezing the tense shoulder encouragingly. "Come on. Neither of us wants you to leave. Once the others know you're alive, they won't either."

Wesker snorted, then turned enough to lock gazes with Chris. "You think so?" he asked bitterly.

With a gasp, Chris pulled his hand back and retreated a pace. He couldn't break the eye-contact with Wesker, though going by his shocked and unsettled expression he would have liked to. Wesker held his gaze for a moment longer, the turned away. He pulled his arm out of Jill's hand, finally, but still didn't make a move to leave. "Both of you, go back to the station. Now." Jill could almost hear the _please_ as an afterthought, which Wesker wouldn't allow himself to add with Chris in attendance.

Chris, to his credit, got over the shock of seeing Wesker's new eyes very quickly. If he just acted like he hadn't seen them, he could easily believe there was absolutely nothing different about Wesker, so that was how he acted. "Well, if you're not our captain anymore, then we don't have to follow your orders," he said firmly, squaring his shoulders. Now Chris was in stubborn mode, and God help anyone trying to argue with him now. They were destined to lose to sheer mulishness. "So with all due respect, _Captain_, no. Not without you, at least."

Jill's lips curved up into a slight smile. She was glad Chris was on her side – and not just because he was so belligerent. Hopefully, between the two of them, they would be able to convince Wesker not to leave. And it was just nice to have her best friend backing her up. She didn't know what she'd do without him. She loved Wesker to pieces, but she'd known Chris for years, and they were more like siblings in spirit than mere friends. There was a completely different relationship there, but one that was just as close and intimate, if in different ways.

Wesker turned around to stare Chris in the eyes. He had to exert every ounce of his considerable self-control to keep his arms straight by his sides and to stay in one place – as agitated as he was, it was inevitable that the aggression trademark to the infected should surface. For a moment Wesker struggled not to let his body even bare his teeth or bristle. To all outward appearances he was deliberately and challengingly staring Chris down; that was how the marksman interpreted his actions, and he defiantly stared back. That of course didn't help, for in response to that glare, Wesker's instincts insisted that he punish this stupid human for his idiotic and pointless challenge. Gritting his teeth, Wesker managed to calm his system enough to form words. "I am not running away because I am ashamed. I am leaving to make all your lives easier. Do you really want to have to deal with a _tyrant_? Because that's what I am now. A bio-organic weapon, same as the monster that killed me. Right now I am _this_ close to ripping your head off, Christopher, and it would be laughably easy."

Chris mistook the curt tone of Wesker's voice, his words, and the tense posture in Wesker's body as a sign of anger and not as the strained control and bald truth it truly was. And of course, it was Chris' natural reaction when Wesker was mad at him to argue back. "So do it, then, and prove yourself right. If you're really the same thing as that Tyrant, then kill me." He spread his arms beckoningly.

That was quite possibly the stupidest thing Chris had ever done up to that point in his life, and it was arguably one of the stupidest things he would do for the rest of his life. Before either of the two humans could blink, and before Wesker could stop himself, he had Chris by the throat up against the nearest tree. And though Chris was slightly taller, Wesker had easily lifted the younger man several inches off the ground before slamming his back against the tree bark. Lips curled into a silent snarl, Wesker brought his face close to Chris', and hissed, "Do you really want me to do that, Chris? Because I will. You are very lucky that I haven't done so already. And I'm not just making threats – this is the truth. I don't want to hurt you, but if you aren't careful I will. Do you finally understand?" Eyes wide in horror, Chris wheezed and gurgled, hands scrabbling uselessly at Wesker's wrist. Jill, although she was shocked by the suddenness of the episode, stepped up and wrapped her hands around Wesker's arm, trying to pull it off Chris.

"Albert, stop it! You're going to choke him!"

Jill's touch and voice seemed to break the spell. Suddenly, all the blind rage drained from Wesker's expression; he snatched his hand back as if it was burned and darted to the other end of the tiny clearing they occupied.

Chris slumped to the ground clutching his throat, gasping for breath, still staring wide-eyed at Wesker, who had turned his back to the two humans and stood leaning against a tree, struggling again to regain control. Jill crouched next to Chris and checked to make sure was going to be okay; other than a serious scare and having the wind knocked from him, he was unharmed. But he had felt the inhuman strength in Wesker's hand and knew that he could easily have incurred bruises, or worse. He had been so shocked by Wesker's sudden attack that he was stunned out of fighting against the constricting grip around his throat. Not only had it come from out of nowhere, but it came from his Captain – the man he trusted more than anyone but Jill, who sacrificed himself for the rest of the team. How could he fight back?

And that was what disgusted Wesker so much about it. Chris hadn't fought back – had barely struggled. The man's survival instincts were keen enough that he _should_ have been clawing madly at him to make him get off, but he'd just hung there, flabbergasted. His captain shouldn't have attacked him, except that his captain had died, and in his place was a tyrant. Chris could have so effortlessly died, and he wouldn't have thought to lift a hand in his own defense until it was far too late. Wesker despised himself for nearly shattering that trust; he hated not having control.

Chris took a moment to catch his breath while Jill, reassured that Chris would be all right, went up behind Wesker. He spoke without turning. "Was that not enough?" the tyrant asked wearily. "Please, just go. I don't… I can't…" Jill took his hand in hers and squeezed softly.

"Albert, we want to help. We don't care what happened; we just want to have our Captain with us. Please, Albert?"

He stood there unmoving for several moments, and at first Jill was afraid he would remain adamant about severing all ties and disappearing; but then Wesker turned around to give her a resigned look. "Why won't you just let me go, Jill?"

She cupped Wesker's face in both hands and leaned up until their noses nearly touched. "Because I love you. I thought you knew that already, Albert. I love you and I don't want you to leave. I don't care what you are."

Wesker's eyes slid closed for a moment. When he opened them again, he took her hands between his, letting the unnatural warmth radiating from his skin soak in. "Jill Valentine, you are the only one in this world who can make me do something I don't want to do."

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**D'aaw. This fic has turned out to be so much longer than I originally thought… for some reason when I started this I thought it was gonna be a one-shot. Actually I didn't have much of a plan for it at first, I just needed to get the fluff out of my head so Melpomene would concentrate on HWS. NOW she wants to make this hugely long and spanning the timeframe of the rest of the series. Oy vey.**


	4. If Only, If Only

**Heh, semi-intentional cliffhanger last time. I shall remedy that here. I'd just hit a temporary Museblock due to tiredness. This will probably turn out to be the longest single chapter I've yet written, at least here.  
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Chris stood up while Jill was busy trying to get Wesker to stay. He didn't exactly know what to think – his captain had just tried to kill him. His captain was a tyrant. That notion was hard to wrap his head around. He _looked_ almost exactly the same as before, except for the eyes. He'd seen Wesker's eyes before, a few times, when communal showers were taken in the locker rooms. The bloodred and vivid gold was such a change from his former clear-ice blue; it was uncanny.

And now Jill was persuading the newly reborn tyrant to come back with them. He might've had more of an objection to this had he not known Jill so well; she was, above all, a sensible woman. She usually knew what she was doing. And since she was currently professing her love to Wesker – that in and of itself kinda threw Chris for a loop – she obviously was confident that whatever had come over him that made him attack was over now. Wesker certainly looked calm and rational again. In fact, he even looked contrite when he glanced over at Chris, as if begging him to forgive that slip of control.

If anything, that made up Chris' mind. He had never seen Wesker look apologetic before – it just wasn't in him; so if he felt bad enough to wear that expression, then Chris had nothing to fear. He smiled faintly, then looked over his shoulder in the direction of the station. "We should head back now – the others are probably wondering where we went. They were going to tell Chief Irons about what happened –"

A low growl bubbled up from Wesker's chest and his lip curled. "Bad idea. He'll tell Umbrella that what's left of S.T.A.R.S. is onto them, and we'll all be hunted down."

Both Chris and Jill turned to stare at him. "_What?_"

"Umbrella has been bribing him for years to cover up some of their more illicit activities that otherwise the R.P.D. would have picked up on. He probably has a criminal record a mile long; the man is a disgusting individual." Wesker shook his head in distaste. "I would have told you all, but it would have been pointless. We wouldn't have been able to prove anything."

Now Chris was wary as he eyed Wesker. "How do you know about that, though?"

Wesker sighed. "A few years before S.T.A.R.S. was formed I was a high-ranking researcher for Umbrella. They really didn't like someone who knows as much as I do roaming unhindered in society, so when I quit that job to join the R.P.D. Irons told me in no uncertain terms that if I opened my mouth about Umbrella to the police, there would be dire consequences. It wasn't hard to guess what his connection was to Umbrella, especially knowing what I know."

Jill looked grim; Chris looked confused. As much time as Jill had spent with Wesker and in his apartment, she'd been told about Wesker's past job with Umbrella – and ogled at his MD/PhD – but now that took on a new significance. She pursed her lips shrewdly and asked, "What were you working on before you quit that made Irons so adamant that you stay quiet?"

"That I will explain later, once we get everyone in one place. You all deserve the full story from my end and I'd like for everyone to relate what they experienced in the mansion, so we all can be on the same page," Wesker replied, with enough reserve in his tone to make Chris and Jill wary. What bombshell would he drop on their heads, after all the team had been through in the past twelve hours?

Even so, they still trusted their captain, and so all three headed back to the station. "I hope the others don't react too badly," Chris remarked eventually to break the silence.

Jill had to smile, and Wesker chuckled. "I'm sure Brad will have a stroke and freeze up like a deer in the headlights. The other two will take it in stride, I think."

"Yeah, probably. But poor Brad, he might shit himself," Chris snickered.

"Give him some credit, Chris. He did work up the balls to some back for us," Jill said.

"After leaving us stranded in the first place," Chris pointed out.

"In his place I would've too. Those dogs probably went for him too, and I know they scared _me_ out of my mind. We ran from them, so did he. He just happened to take the chopper with him. It was a good thing for us he did run, you realize – a whole lot of good it would've done us against the Tyrant if Brad had ended up like Kevin."

Chris admitted that she had him there; Wesker squeezed her shoulder fondly. Usually Jill acted like 'one of the guys', but sometimes her maternal, big-sister side came out and she came to the defense of the younger or newer S.T.A.R.S. members. Or in Brad's case, she stuck up for him because he would get picked on frequently for being 'chicken-hearted'. Either way, those little moments where she acted less like a cop and more like a woman were rather endearing to the whole team. Until Rebecca had showed up she had been the only female, so naturally in a group made up almost entirely of single men, her presence had been a breath of fresh air from all the testosterone. It had also meant that she got playfully flirted with frequently by several of them – which she had been worried about when she'd first started going out with Wesker, wondering if he would get jealous or suspicious about it – but it was all in good fun.

As they came out of the trees onto the landing pad, Wesker winced and had to shield his eyes against the bright morning sun, mentally cursing the fact that he'd lost his shades somewhere in the mansion. Now, of all times, when they would have actually served a purpose other than to be decorational and intimidating, he had to have lost them. But they made their way across the field and over to the station, where who was standing in the door but Brad. He'd obviously grown concerned over the whereabouts of Jill and Chris and had been about to go looking for them, when they came into view. But was there a third person with them? Who was it? As they approached and he could make out their faces, all three saw the blood drain from Brad's face. The pilot looked as though he would have been perfectly happy to bolt, if only his body wasn't paralyzed in shock, and then fear when he noticed the change in Wesker's eyes. Wesker hung back a pace behind Chris and Jill, schooling his face into its usual neutrality to keep from laughing at Brad's expression.

The pilot remained half in and half out of the door, blocking it, so the returning trio had to pause just outside to confront him. "Sorry we took so long, Brad – we just had to work something out," Chris explained smoothly. "Thanks for holding the door, now will you let us in?"

Brad swallowed convulsively, then leaned forward to hiss, "Do you realize what's standing right behind you?"

"Yes, I know Captain Wesker is standing behind me. Let us in please."

"Last time I checked he was supposed to be dead! Living people don't have eyes like that! What the hell is going on?!"

"That's kind of a long story, Brad. If you'll let us in you'll hear it – along with Barry and Becky." But Brad was clearly too panicked to move without more persuasion than Chris' word.

"We'd all appreciate it, Bradley, if you would remove yourself," Wesker drawled in his most ironic tone. Perhaps it was hearing the 'dead man' speak, perhaps it was the invocation of his full first name, but in response to that, Brad yipped in terror and bolted inside. Wesker shook his head with a sigh. "His heart is going to give out if that keeps up." The other two smiled as they entered the station – Wesker lingered outside. "I'd rather no one outside of S.T.A.R.S. find out that I'm alive; and either way, the station isn't the best place to discuss things. You two gather the others. I'm going back to my apartment to clean up – I look rather macabre at the moment."

With a huge, bloody hole in his uniform that clearly advertised the fact that he had been gruesomely impaled, Chris and Jill were far from disagreeing with that statement. "Where should we meet you?" Jill inquired.

"That open area behind my complex – you know where it is, Jill. Call me paranoid but I'd rather not run the risk of anyone being able to eavesdrop." Jill and Chris nodded in assent. They understood his caution.

While Wesker made his way around the station to his car, Chris and Jill went into the station and made straight for the S.T.A.R.S. office, which was as private as they were going to get unless they left the building. Immediately upon entering the room, Barry accosted them asking what the hell was going on. "Brad was babbling about a zombie following you or something, he's scared witless. What did you do to spook him so bad?"

"Where'd he go?" Brad demanded nervously, seeing that Chris and Jill were unaccompanied.

Chris held up his hands to halt the flood of questions. At least Rebecca wasn't panicking, though she did look rather confused. "Woah, everybody just chill. Brad, shut up and I'll tell you, okay?" The pilot nodded warily, clearly still upset by seeing the reincarnated Captain.

"All right, here's the gist of it. Captain Wesker is alive. Yes, I know he died, but he's alive again. I don't know why, Jill doesn't know why, only the captain does, and he'll explain himself soon enough. He apparently knows more about what happened in the mansion than we do. So that's where we're headed now, is to see what he's got to say for himself. He's not here right now because we're going to continue telling everyone else that he's dead and keep this amongst ourselves. Did you guys already take the story to Chief Irons?"

"He didn't believe us," Barry reported mournfully. "Not that I'm surprised in the least. I barely believe it myself."

Chris spat a curse under his breath and Jill took up the narrative. "Then we can probably count on someone – or something – coming after us to make sure we don't go telling the world about what happened. According to Albert, the Chief has been taking bribes from Umbrella."

Barry stared at her incredulously, while Brad and Rebecca exchanged nervous glances. "You're kidding," Barry stated flatly.

"I wish we were," Chris replied, returning Barry's grim expression. "Anyway, come on, you guys. Let's go get the story from Captain Wesker." And although Brad looked very uneasy and the other two skeptical, they followed Chris out of the station. Jill smiled to herself. Chris had been Alpha team's unofficial second-in-command since about the time he joined; he didn't have the same officially recognized authority as Enrico had, and it didn't extend to all of S.T.A.R.S., but whenever Wesker had felt like changing things up in their drills and practices, he would make Chris the temporary leader of the team. He was a natural leader as much as Wesker was, and it came naturally to him to take up the reins in the absence of an official leader. And it was natural for the others to go along with him. He was a solid, sensible guy, trustworthy beyond anyone Jill had ever met besides Wesker; and admittedly, far more easygoing and likeable than Wesker to those who were new to the Service.

Jill led all of them to Wesker's apartment complex, and then out to the open area behind his building that featured a small children's playground and a couple of picnic tables, where the group settled. Only Jill had ever been there before, and it was news to the other four that this was actually where Wesker lived. But they saw their captain's car in his parking spot – they had also noticed its absence from his slot in the R.P.D. station lot – and it seemed to sink in to Barry and Rebecca that Brad and Chris hadn't been joking.

While they sat around waiting for Wesker, Chris turned to Jill and asked something that had been eating at his curiosity for hours. "So, what's with you and the Captain?" She knew what he was asking, and her face took on a slightly wistful expression.

"I'm surprised that no one noticed until now, really – though I'm glad, since if no one in S.T.A.R.S. noticed then it's way less likely anyone else did. Albert and I have been together for several months. I'm sorry we couldn't tell any of you –"

"Nah, it's okay. We understand why you didn't." Chris had to grin. The other three, however, were wearing expressions of varying levels of shock. Captain _Wesker_? And _Jill_? "It's a good thing you didn't, 'cuz you gotta know someone like Jo would've made such a racket when he found out that the whole R.P.D. would've heard it."

She chuckled. "And that was one embarrassment I preferred to do without. Bless his heart, he always meant well, but Joseph was a moron sometimes." Everyone was silent for a moment then, sadly remembering the comrades they lost in the mansion.

Just then, footsteps approached; as one, the team turned, and only Jill and Chris didn't stiffen in shock. Or, in Brad's case, fear. Wesker had washed the blood off his face and arms, tamed the disheveled mess of his hair, and changed into a plain tee shirt and jeans that didn't happen to have gaping holes in them. For everyone but Jill it was their first time seeing him in casual clothes, and one of the few times they'd seen him sans sunglasses. He had a pair on him, but they were folded and hanging from the collar of his shirt, not perched on his nose. There was no point to hiding his eyes from S.T.A.R.S.. Wesker was gratified to notice that neither Rebecca nor Barry flinched away from him as he went to sit next to Jill, and Brad was either too frightened to move, or he was beginning to get over his fear.

"So Captain –" Chris began, but Wesker lifted a hand to cut him off.

"As I told you before, Chris, don't call me 'Captain' anymore. S.T.A.R.S. will disband after this, with Enrico and I both on the record as dead."

Chris knew right then and there that it would be difficult to get into the habit of not using Wesker's title. "If you say so."

Wesker smirked slightly at the marksman. "I do say so."

He couldn't help but smile back. "All right then. Anyway, what was it you were saying earlier that you wanted to explain once all of us were in the same place?" It might have looked like the meeting of sorts was going on regardless of Brad, Barry and Rebecca's participation, but the other three knew that acting as though nothing whatsoever was unusual would help them get over the surprise of seeing their captain back from the dead and with very unnatural eyes.

Wesker sighed heavily. "About that. Allow me to start from the beginning so those of you who weren't privy to that conversation can keep up," he began, glancing at Barry, Brad and Rebecca. "I joined the R.P.D. in 1991, five years before Enrico and I officially founded the Special Tactics and Rescue Service. For about thirteen years before that, I had been one of the head researchers for Umbrella's Arklay lab – the one all of you just had a tour of." _That_ was news to all of them, even Jill, who had only known Wesker had been _a_ researcher. "The Arklay lab was a secret facility, of course, because what went on there would have gotten Umbrella into a lot of trouble if anyone had found out.

"My colleague William Birkin was the other head researcher, and between us we did most of the work on the Tyrant project, which was the main focus of that lab's bio-organic weapons development program. When I left, it was because William had moved onto another project that was beyond the scope of my abilities; that was my excuse to Umbrella, at least." He dropped his head into his hand. "In reality, I had just had enough of that whole place. Some of the tests and experiments were as humane as research like that ever really gets, but the rest…" Wesker had to swallow back rising bile. "I turned a blind eye most of the time, and let my fascination with the virus distract me from the things going on under my watch. It wasn't like I had much of a choice of I wanted to keep my position – but that didn't change the facts.

"As time went on I became more and more disgusted by the whole ordeal – more and more disgusted with myself for condoning these things – but I still kept up the charade. You can understand that Umbrella wouldn't want someone who was up to his elbows in bioweapons research to just up and leave. It would've been dangerous for me to quit, at least without a valid excuse; no one is safe when Umbrella feels threatened. When William got authorization for his G-virus project, it was as good an excuse as anything for me to leave, since we'd hit a wall in the Tyrant project and a European lab was making far more progress than we were at the time."

He finally lifted his head to meet the eyes of the others, whose expressions ranged from horror to disgust to plain shock, and his expression turned apologetic. "The reason I joined the police force was in a sorry attempt to redeem myself. I don't think I'll ever be able to. I didn't conduct any of the more unsavory experiments personally, but I still oversaw them. The blood is still on my hands no matter how I tried to ignore it." He took a deep breath, expelled it in a sigh, sat up and squared his shoulders. "There you go. You all know the whole story now. I knew nothing about the outbreak in the facility until we ran right into it, but I knew what to expect far more than any of you did. I warned you, but my warning was vague. Now we six are all that's left of S.T.A.R.S.."

A heavy silence hung over them for some time; Jill was the first to break it, with a question so unexpected that it brought a faint smile to Wesker's lips. "How… old were you when you started there?" She had worked out the math herself, but she couldn't quite believe it.

"William and I were transferred to the Arklay lab twenty years ago – I was eighteen. He is two years my junior, and there has been someone who became the head researcher at her lab when she was _ten_, so don't think I hold the record for youngest researcher." That comment earned him slack-jawed expressions and disbelief. "And I swear to you I am not lying. Umbrella seems to attract the demented young geniuses."

Chris was the next one to speak up; it seemed like Rebecca, Barry and Brad were still having a hard time wrapping their heads around all this new information. They had had their views and assumptions about a lot of things turned completely upside down and destroyed in the last day, and Chris didn't blame them for being a little glassy-eyed. "Well, thanks for telling us," he remarked wryly. Wesker tilted his head slightly, equal irony twisting his lips into a smirk. "I just want to know one thing. Do you really regret what you did?" If the tone of contrition he'd heard in Wesker's voice and the look that begged forgiveness that Wesker had just worn were genuine – if he truly was horrified by what had happened in that lab, then Chris was willing to forgive him. He could ask for more details as to why Wesker had done what he did later – right now he needed to decide whether to ever trust this man again.

Wesker's ironic expression faded. In its place was what Chris could only call a look of unadulterated self-disgust that lurked deep in Wesker's red-gold eyes as the tyrant regarded him solemnly for a long moment. "Every day I came back from the lab, it felt like the showers I took could never wash away the filth and the blood. Once or twice when I first got there I had to swallow back vomit – eventually I became desensitized to the horrors, which in and of itself is worse. Yes, Chris, I regret the atrocities I authorized and conducted; I regret them intensely, especially now that I've become like some of the things upon which I once experimented." Bitterness twisted his lips up. "Very apropos, I think. Umbrella researchers seem to have a tendency to be killed by their own creations."

For another long moment, no one spoke. This was a side to the Captain that no one in the group had known before; who would've thought that he was hiding this rather sordid past? Jill stared at the grass pensively. She knew Wesker better than anyone else in S.T.A.R.S., but it turned out that she hadn't known the half of it. That bothered her some, but since she could well understand the reasons Wesker had kept those secrets, she couldn't hold it against him. And now, at least, the truth was out. She knew it had taken a huge leap of faith for Wesker to share what he had with them: he was a very private person, as a rule, so a situation like this where he had to make himself open and vulnerable was a highly uncomfortable one for him. Especially after the trauma he had just experienced in being revived from death.

Chris glanced at Jill and they traded looks – both of them were thinking along similar lines. It was clear that Wesker truly did feel regret, so while they weren't exactly happy about the whole deal; well, the situation they'd gotten themselves into was one that promised more unpleasantness at every turn. And Wesker had put the truth out for them to judge for themselves – that was a significant saving grace, that he hadn't continued to hide the truth and leave them guessing. He had said his peace and let them reach their own conclusions, and was waiting on their word whether they would accept their captain as he truly was or reject him. In all fairness, how could they fault him? He had made mistakes – well damn, everyone did. But he was owning up to them. He was making up for the earlier omission and trying to salvage the trust they had all put in him.

Chris looked at the other three, and was mildly surprised and gratified to note that the one who looked the most composed was actually Brad. The pilot had evidently made up his mind, and when he felt Chris' eyes on him, he nodded slightly. Rebecca still looked disturbed by the way Wesker had described the experiments, but when she returned the eye-contact with Chris, she too nodded. Barry looked rather grim, but he nodded; whatever was bothering him, it was probably peripheral.

While this wordless conversation was going on amongst his team, Wesker leaned back against the table and closed his eyes. The place he'd chosen to sit was in the shade so his newly photosensitive eyes were shielded from the sun, which was the only thing that let him go comfortably without slipping the shades on; even so, it was easier on him to block out all the light, and he didn't particularly want to see the expressions the others were trading. He'd said what he had to say; now it was his turn to wait on their word. He didn't try to persuade them or to put a spin on his tale that put him in a better light – they were all too smart to fall for that. Besides, he wanted them to know the bald truth and make judgments based off of that – the fewer illusions they all held, the better. They could very easily decide he wasn't to be trusted, after having kept such secrets from them; that wouldn't surprise him in the least. That might be better for them in the long run, if Wesker's luck held as it had been for the past day.

Wesker felt a hand come to rest cupped over his; he slid one eye open as Jill squeezed his hand slightly, and when she noticed his gaze, she smiled. That smile said it all; he was forgiven, at least by Jill. Relief nearly made him faint as Wesker turned his hand up to mesh his fingers with Jill's and squeeze back gratefully. He had at least one of them on his side – the one who meant the most to him. The one whose trust he would have been the sorriest to lose. She had more of a right to mistrust him now than the others, considering how close he'd otherwise let her get; but still Jill had decided to give him another chance.

Chris noticed the contact between Jill and Wesker and had to hide a smile. He was just as surprised as the other three about that relationship, but at the same time he was too happy – for both of them – to give a crap. No one had ever seen it coming – Wesker had seemed like just too much of a loner to get up with a woman. There were a few nasty little rumors, every now and then, from the officers in the R.P.D. who weren't fans of the Alpha team captain that he was actually gay, but it was plain as day to anyone in S.T.A.R.S. that he was straight as a stick, and that he never went on dates because he just wasn't interested in dating. Wesker had always seemed like a fairly asexual person to Chris, but apparently he had been wrong there, too. Wonders never ceased. Of course, Chris himself had once been mildly infatuated with Jill, but that little crush soon faded and anyway, they were too good of friends to let infatuation complicate things. Chris had wondered vaguely a few times why Jill never reported going on any dates – but now he knew why. Who would've thought?

"Cap – I mean, Wesker – is it true what Chris said, that Umbrella was bribing Chief Irons?" Barry inquired at length, stumbling over the title as the other ex-S.T.A.R.S. knew they would for a while.

The tyrant nodded once. "Yes. He could be an actual operative; I don't know exactly what the connection is, but from what I've seen he lives beyond the means of a normal police chief, and he does have a connection to Umbrella. When I first joined the force he all but blackmailed me so I would keep my mouth shut about what I'd seen being a researcher – so he obviously has regular correspondence with someone who knew, at the very least, who the researchers were at the Arklay lab. It makes sense that Umbrella would have people high up in the R.P.D. under their influence, since some of the things they were doing wouldn't have gone unnoticed by a vigilant, dutiful police force. I wouldn't be surprised if he knew that the lab had been caught in an outbreak when he gave the order for S.T.A.R.S. to go in." _That_ statement made grim anger overtake all their expressions. Chris and Barry exchanged scowls.

"Son of a bitch… do you mean he set us up to die?" the marksman growled.

"The chances are high. I'm almost certain he was informed of the outbreak. And he knew that thirteen people, however well-trained, had no chance going into a situation like that blind." Wesker's lip curled in distaste. "Likely, he realized that I would figure out what was going on sooner or later, and that I would ignore his earlier threats and blow Umbrella's cover. Which I would've. But I didn't make the connection between the lab and the murders until it was too late and Bravo had already gone in – I was being naïve, honestly."

"No, Albert – you were being sensible. What were the chances of an outbreak starting, or of the creatures escaping or whatever? Not very high, I bet," Jill interjected, laying her hand on Wesker's shoulder soothingly. He tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement of her logic. She was right – the chances of the virus spreading through the facility had been slim to none, and only a highly improbable fluke had sparked it in the first place.

"But that still doesn't tell us _why_. Why did he send us to our deaths? Surely sacrificing both teams wasn't just to silence one person," Barry rumbled ominously.

"It wasn't just Irons pulling the strings here," Wesker said grimly. "Irons is only a peripheral player here. Someone else, working for Umbrella, is the one responsible for this – or at least for relaying Irons the order to send in S.T.A.R.S.. If that had been a 'normal' outbreak, there would have been only a few infected, and none of the Hunters or other B.O.W. roaming around. _Those_ had to have been deliberately released, and the only reason I can think of would be to gather battle data by setting them loose so that they came into contact with S.T.A.R.S.. I'm sure that's why the Tyrant was deployed, once it became evident that the handful of survivors was likely to make it out of the mansion."

"So the whole thing was to get data on those things?" Brad demanded, caught between indignancy and horror.

Wesker shook his head. "No, the Arklay facility was too valuable to ruin like that just to gather information. The outbreak was accidental, but someone evidently decided to try and salvage what they could from the situation and make up as much of the loss as possible by gathering combat data on the B.O.W. that would have required tests that were costly and impractical." Wesker smirked bitterly. "Efficiency at its finest."

The expressions of distaste all around clearly advertised what the others thought of Umbrella's efficiency. They each became lost in their own thoughts, but the silence that descended this time was less tense. Wesker sensed that the rest of the team seemed to have accepted his story and granted him another chance; for which he was intensely grateful. And now he could do more to help them, for they would be on Umbrella's hit-list now, and they still had only just realized how twisted and insidious the corporation really was. Eventually, Brad stirred from his broody introspection, and looked sidelong at Wesker, clearly still a little hesitant.

"Uh, just one more thing, Captain." Wesker didn't bother correcting him; they would get used to it in time. "If you don't mind explaining, how did this –" he touched the corner of one eye – "happen?" The others paid attention, then, fixing their gazes intently on the tyrant, whose mouth pulled back into a half-grimace.

"As I was moving through the lab, I accidentally damaged a vial containing an experimental virus. It was an early stage of William's project – one that I was actually around for, which is the only reason why I recognized the markings on the vial I broke. It's hard to spread, so you don't need to worry about my being contagious," he added, with just a touch of wryness when the team's postures relaxed as one in response to his assurance. "In a nutshell, when the Tyrant killed me, that triggered the virus into amplifying and taking over my body much sooner than it would have –normally, it takes these viruses a few days to incubate. Either way, my fate was sealed the moment the virus entered my bloodstream." He sighed heavily. "And I'm not sure whether it was good luck or bad that the virus resurrected me. Perhaps both. Very, _very_ few people have genetics that are capable of creating tyrants like what I am now or the thing you fought; most people just outright die, and since this is a relative of the G-virus, it is highly likely that had I not become a tyrant, my body would have undergone severe mutations." Brad and Rebecca's eyes widened at the way Wesker said "severe mutations". He was clearly still uneasy about that particular experience, so they directed the conversation to what everyone else went through.

By the time the sun had moved across the sky so that its rays were beginning to shine right into Wesker's eyes, they had all finished trading stories, and all six professed themselves exhausted. Sleep was something they had left behind the morning before Bravo had gone in; between that and the grueling ordeal going through the lab and the mansion, to a man what was left of S.T.A.R.S. were about to collapse from fatigue. They dispersed under the agreement that they would keep in touch for as long as possible; soon, only Jill was left sitting next to Wesker on the bench.

With a heavy, world-weary sigh, Wesker leaned back against the tabletop, head craned back to stare sightlessly into the branches of the tree that had been providing much-needed shade all morning. When a dapple of sunlight lanced right down into his eyes as the foliage stirred in a breeze, he winced and finally slipped the sunglasses onto his face. Jill inclined her head curiously. "How sensitive are your eyes to light now?"

"Pitch darkness, to me, would be like midday to you. So it hurts when sunlight goes directly into my eyes." He exhaled deeply – not quite another sigh. "Everything looks different, and sounds different, and smells different. I'm sure food will taste differently." Speaking of food, he was still ravenous; it was a wonder his stomach wasn't gurgling urgently. "Even my sense of touch changed. I can feel that your arm is a few inches away from mine." Surprised, Jill looked down, and sure enough there was only a thin margin of air between her elbow and his upper arm. How could he feel it without there actually being contact? His peripheral vision apparently detected her puzzled expression, because he snorted wryly. "Sharks have this sense too; they feel electrochemical signals given off by nerve impulses. Apparently tyrants inherit that sensitivity."

There was a lot she wanted to ask him, but Wesker seemed to have fallen into a broody, introspective mood, so she held her silence and sufficed with cuddling against his side. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled Jill closer against him, burying his face in her hair. She smiled; at least one thing hadn't changed about him. They sat like that for a while, just resting, until Jill's eyelids began to droop and Wesker had to shake her to keep her awake. He helped her to her feet, and as Jill turned reluctantly to go back to her apartment, her movement was arrested by Wesker's hand still meshed with hers. He wore a slightly apologetic expression as he asked, "Would you mind too terribly if… I stayed with you, for the time being? If I'm supposed to be dead it will seem odd if I'm seen in my apartment like usual." Jill smiled slightly; what Wesker didn't say but what his expression clearly did was that he really didn't want to be alone.

"Of course not. I'd be happy to have you, for as long as you need to stay." He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss gratefully onto her knuckles. Jill went into his apartment with him to lend a hand packing – though all he took was essentially just a duffel-bag of clothing and his laptop. Even for a man he was quite low-maintenance. Also, it would have looked odd if it appeared as though the apartment had been gone through as if the tenant was moving, so he had to leave everything but the essentials behind. He slung the bag into the backseat of Jill's Jeep and sat in the passenger's seat, while Jill hauled herself into the driver's side and started the engine. A few people had remarked – not in her hearing, of course – that a Wrangler was not a very lady-like car, but Wesker thought it suited her personality. And he did agree with her assessment that manual transmissions were far more fun to drive than automatics.

In a matter of minutes they were at Jill's apartment complex, trudging wearily up the flight of stairs to her second-story apartment. Once inside, Jill professed herself about to drop, and after bidding Wesker to make himself at home stripped out of her stained, ruined uniform and got into the shower to wash away the night's grime and strain. While he waited his turn – he hadn't been able to give himself a full wash before going out to confront the rest of the team – Wesker went right to the kitchen. It felt rather rude to go through her refrigerator as soon as he got in, but better a little lapse in etiquette that Jill would forgive immediately than pass out or something equally bad from starvation. Who knew but it might trigger another episode of atavistic rage, and that was something Wesker did not want to repeat. Neither Jill nor Chris had known how very close the marksman had come to death, back in the woods around the station.

Wesker located a Ziploc container of deli ham in one of the drawers; it was the closest he could come at that moment to satisfying his intense craving for protein. His body wanted it in the form of meat fresh enough that it still bled, while the rest of him felt like it would be happy with a nice peanut-butter and jelly sandwich right about now; anything meat might look like someone he knew. Cold sliced ham was as good a compromise as he was likely to get for the time being.

Jill was out of the shower more quickly than he'd expected given how tired she looked, but it meant that he'd have a decent amount of hot water. So while Jill got clothes on and fixed herself a plain bagel to nibble on before finally passing out, Wesker took his turn in the shower.

Surrounded by the sound of water drumming on the floor and with the humid air heavy in his nostrils, Wesker could close his eyes and almost pretend nothing whatsoever had changed about him. The only problem with that was the memories were burned to deeply into his brain that there was no chance of forgetting. Wesker usually prided himself on his near-photographic memory, but this was beyond even that. If he lost every other memory, this event would probably stay with him: one could not easily forget what it was like to die.

He didn't particularly want to linger over those disturbing memories – they would undoubtedly haunt his dreams for some time – so he turned his thoughts elsewhere. This new train of thought didn't improve his mood, for it was as frustrating as the others were bothersome. _Jill_.

Jill had made it through the mansion with the others; next to Chris, she was easily the most skilled and capable of anyone in S.T.A.R.S.. Courageous, independent, strong-willed; she was a survivor, who wasn't afraid to get into some tough situations and get her hands dirty to keep herself and her loved ones alive. At the same time, Jill was a caring woman – maternal, even – and wasn't afraid to open her heart to someone. Best of all, she had a clarity of vision that allowed her to see past the façades people put up: this made her an excellent law enforcement officer, and it also meant that when it came to more emotional situations, she could look past the outside and see to the heart of things – where it really mattered. It meant that she could see him as just Albert, and not as a tyrant. She could look into his blood-colored eyes and only see them man she loved. She wouldn't hold against him things he couldn't control.

She was not the kind of person who took love lightly. If she said she loved someone, she meant it with her whole heart; Jill would go through fire for someone she loved. She would give that loved one the benefit of the doubt if it was warranted. That wasn't to say she would forgive every transgression, for her principles were far too rigid for that; it was another thing Wesker admired about her, for having the strength to put her own feelings aside if her morals were compromised. But, her attachments were strong enough to withstand a lot of stress, and they had a way of coming back stronger than before if they made it through a rough spot.

Wesker knew, instinctively, that women like Jill were one in a million. They were precious, in their rarity; to be held onto for as long as possible. He would never be able to find someone else who understood him as well, who would be able to look beyond his new eyes and see the man within the tyrant. There was no one else who could ever worm her way into his heart the way Jill had. Wesker was a man who didn't make emotional investments lightly or easily, so when he did, they were strong and long-lasting. As close as he had let Jill into his heart, it would be a devastating blow to lose her; one of the reasons he was worshipfully grateful that she was who she was.

He sighed heavily and ran both hands through his hair, just standing there for a moment to let the shower's spray massage his back. The events of the last few hours had made it abundantly clear just how serious Jill was, and how serious _he_ was; if their circumstances weren't what they were, Wesker decided he would have unhesitatingly dropped to one knee and asked Jill to marry him. Perhaps it was part of his reaction to recent trauma, feeling the need to cling to anything he held dear and never let it go, but suddenly he realized that it would be tragic to let something like he had with Jill just slip through his fingers.

Oh, but however much he wanted to, he knew he couldn't. Fate was conspiring, once more, against his happiness. He was officially dead, and both of them would soon have to leave Raccoon and make themselves scarce; where he needed to go, Jill couldn't follow, because the top priority as soon as he recovered a little from recent events was to hunker down and figure out what was going on with his virus. He may have sounded confident and knowledgeable in his explanation to the team, but the truth of the matter was that he really knew next to nothing about the virus in his body, and that was _bad_. For all he knew at any moment he could start mutating. It would be tricky enough to get into a position where he would be able to properly work – it would require doing something distasteful, but he preferred living in full possession of his mind. Wesker was, if anything, more pragmatic about his survival than the rest of S.T.A.R.S.; he had morals, yes, but they could be bent a little as long as his survival and some level of comfort was ensured. It wasn't a trait he was particularly proud of, but it was just how he was and he wasn't about to change now.

But, between him being God-knew-where feverishly doing research on his virus and Jill being she probably didn't know where yet to keep out of Umbrella's reach, the best they would probably be able to manage for a while would be infrequent phone conversations, and perhaps even more infrequent rendezvous for a few hours of forgetfulness. He sighed again, wearily. However, if they managed to make it through to a point where things were stable – if that point ever came in their lifetimes – then, he promised himself, he would ask. But there were so many ifs… so many chances for something to go awry.

Well, there wasn't anything he could do about that, and standing in the now-cold shower wasn't helping anything. He stepped out of the stall and wrapped a towel around his hips, then emerged from the bathroom to see what had become of Jill. She was sitting in bed mouthing the last crust of her bagel, just staring blankly at the far wall.

"I'm too exhausted to sleep, if that makes any sense," she explained when Wesker gazed curiously at her still being alert.

"It makes perfect sense. I've felt that way enough myself," he replied wryly. Wesker changed into a clean pair of pajama pants and slumped wearily onto the bed next to Jill, and she promptly cuddled against his side even before he could finish wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "And I know right now I won't be getting much sleep for a while." He dreaded the nightmares that would surely invade his slumber.

Jill tilted her head to press a kiss onto the side of his neck. "You look like you're about to faint, Albert, so you should at least try." He quirked an eyebrow and she half-smiled. "I know I have no room to talk, but this time I plan to practice what I preach."

A soft snort escaped Wesker's nostrils as he lightly kissed her brow. "Good night then, dear heart." The fact that it was mid-afternoon had no bearing; they were both tired enough to sleep for the rest of the day and all the way through the night, as long as no nightmares encroached on their sleep.

Which, of course, they did.

Sheer, atavistic, unadulterated _terror_ pulled Wesker from fitful REM sleep and halfway to his feet in a fraction of a second; it was another moment or two more before logic returned to his now hyper-alert mind, and when it did he felt another wave of hatred for what he had become. A nightmare about the void trying to pick him apart molecule by painful molecule had jarred him into awareness, and of course, his new tyrant's instincts kicked into play in the absence of rational thought. Instead of just sitting there drenched in sweat and shivering like a human would, his body had snapped into fight-or-flight mode, and naturally, it was ready for a fight. Lips twisted into a silent snarl bared his teeth as a quiet but venomous hiss escaped, while his hands were curled into claws and every muscle in his body was tensed. In the moment before coming back to his senses, those same fight-or-flight instincts noted the other living, heart-beating thing in the room, and in its blind agitation, had him turn toward it, ready to tear into yielding flesh. Of course, Jill was still asleep and completely harmless, but try telling that to hypersensitive nerves tightened nearly to breaking.

Jill was sleeping the sleep of the dead – too deeply to be stirred by mere nightmares. They would come, she knew that, but she had been just too exhausted to dream much. So when she woke the next morning – for morning it was, with the sun beaming merrily from just above the horizon – she was unaware that her bedmate had suffered from nightmares; at least until she noticed that she was alone in the bed.

She found Wesker spread out on the couch with one arm draped across his eyes to shield them from the slivers of sunlight peeking through the blinds. "Nightmares?" she inquired gently, sitting next to his hip.

"What else?" he replied with heavy irony. "I got all of two hours of sleep yesterday, all before the sun even set."

Jill reached up to stroke his cheek softly. "I'm sorry. What were the nightmares about? Maybe if you tell me it'll help." She was expecting something to do with the tyrant that killed him, or being mutated by the virus, so his response was unexpected when it came.

He hesitated for a moment before answering, then decided she didn't particularly need to know all the details. "Let's just say that death isn't as… _restful_ as people make it out to be."

Brows furrowed in concern at Wesker's tone, Jill waited for him to elaborate, but no more was forthcoming. He lifted his arm from his eyes to give her a somber look. "Just take my word for it, dear heart. That experience is hopefully not one you'll have to have for a while yet." _And one that you hopefully won't wake back up from. Post traumatic stress disorder is uncomfortable from what I know of psychology. You'll have your hands full with the acute form, in all likelihood, after yesterday._ But he didn't voice those thoughts; his private musings were particularly dark at the moment.

The hand that was still held against his face extended upward slightly, enough that Jill could run her fingers over the insomnia-bruised skin around his eyes. "We can only hope," she sighed. Wesker pulled himself up so his back was braced against the arm of the couch, and pulled Jill into his arms, where she willingly curled up against his chest. "It seems like hope is all we have to go on at the moment. Hope and not being willing to just lay down and die." She snorted slightly.

"At least it's something," Wesker commented. _Changing the subject ever so slightly… she needs to know_. "By the way, dear heart, you should think about leaving the city as soon as you can. It may seem like you have time, but the sooner you get off the radar, the better." He sorely regretted the impending separation, but it was necessary. He had spent the long, sleepless hours of the night planning what he would do, and making the first overtures toward the group who could offer him the resources to do research on his virus. It was a good thing Jill had been sleeping so heavily.

She peered up into his face with a slight frown. "I knew that, but what will you be doing, Albert?" She didn't really know what she thought he would be doing – perhaps her subconscious had been leaning toward him remaining with her – but the subject being brought up so suddenly had surprised her.

He sighed slightly. "I will be researching."

"Researching what?" she asked warily.

"Ostensibly, whatever my erstwhile employers tell me to. In reality, my virus. Going around knowing next to nothing about this experimental strain of a highly mutagenic virus in my body is just asking for something bad to happen, which I would rather avoid."

Jill sat up a bit so she could look him straight in the eyes. "So, you're going back to Umbrella?" That seemed like an idiotic decision –

"No. I am going to one of Umbrella's rivals," Wesker corrected wryly. "You wouldn't recognize this one – it has less of a publicly acceptable face than Umbrella and most of its activities are illicit. And before you say anything, I have no choice. If I want to get any productive research done on this virus, I have to be in a bio-organic weapons development program, or else I won't have access to the technology I need." He shrugged slightly. "I don't particularly like it any more than you do, but it's either do B.O.W. research again, or the chances are high that this virus will kill me – and this time I'll stay dead."

Jill wore the expression of someone who just tasted something foul, and he didn't blame her. He felt essentially the same about it, but there was no other option. She probably would like it even less if she knew how he planned to secure his position with the secretive Organization – thanks to the tale-trading the whole team had done the day before, he had plenty of good battle-data on the B.O.W. that had been loose in the mansion, and even on the Tyrant project. The Organization would be delighted to get such information on its biggest rival, along with the knowledge that one of its foremost labs had been destroyed. "I hope you know what you're doing," was all she said, but Wesker understood her dubious tone.

"So do I, dear heart. So do I." The situation wasn't ideal, but that least they were alive and had the ability to do something about it. Wesker still had yet to decide whether it was a good thing or bad that the virus had resurrected him; he was just trying to make the best of the circumstances and keep his head above water, as the others were undoubtedly doing as well. He sighed and pulled Jill closer against him. At least one thing was certain: he had Jill. That was all he needed for the moment.

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**-flaps and squees and rolls around- Too much flufff~**

**There is more to come, folks. At least one more scenario that deals with the events of RE3 and such – I have no idea how many chapters that will be. This turned into four very long chapters when I expected one or two, so yeah. I'm bad at predicting. But I really hope you liked this random Musebinge. I sure had tons of fun and no little insomnia writing it.**


	5. Author's Note: So Here's the Deal, Peeps

**At first I had considered splitting the rest of this tentative plot into a series of separate fics, but then I decided to be lazy and lump them all into one, because I'm just like that. If it looks like that system will become too cumbersome or whatever I'll split them up, but for now, they'll all be in here. And there will be more. It's pretty much guaranteed now that HWS will stay in the planning stages since **_**What If**_** has captured Melpomene's attention so raptly, at least until I finish this and give her a chance to settle down and see if she's really still interested in it.**

**The next… book, I guess you could call it, revolves around RE3 and the time around then, since that's another game in which Jill stars. Another book could be RE:UC Umbrella's End/RE5, if I get that far. And perhaps/probably beyond if Melpomene stays motivated. There will continue to be some serious fluff here because that was the main purpose when I started writing this. This fic also goes through angst, horror, and action, which is why I have the genre set as drama along with romance. I will continue to do my damndest to rein in Melpomene's rather vivid flair for sadism so I don't have to up the rating of this just because she got carried away describing something. It's happened before, to my dismay. I'm trying to keep this lighter than **_**Ouroboros**_** – partly to prove that I really don't hate these characters as much as it seemed there. -shiftyeyes- Including Wesker. In this fic he's nice and cuddly, but in **_**Ouroboros**_** I was keeping him as IC as I could, which meant while I was drowning in epic I was also horrified at how much fun my Muse was having with the sadism and personality disorder-ness and just sheer OMFGRUN! Because in game canon Wesker is a frightening, though impressive, character.**

**If you're at all curious, in this alternate universe, Ada does show up like she does in the games, but working for the Organization in general and not for Wesker, since Wesker isn't diabolical here. Like I said at first, I'm trying to keep this as close to game canon as I can, because the game canon is amazering. And yes, there is another villain taking Wesker's place who is similar to the megalomaniacal canon Wesker, but we don't know who he is yet. Ooooh. I'll be doing lots of looking up stuff for info on the games (since I have no system in my dorm and therefore can't play them) and such, so the next chapters will be a while in coming. And because I have exams coming soon and I need to study. -sigh- Insomnia is not my friend, either. -she says as she glances at the clock to see just how far into the morning it is -shiftyeyes–**

**So yeah. That's your basic rundown of how things will go from here on out. Since I forgot to include disclaimers and suchlike before, so excited was I about the fic, I shall include them here. All characters, etc. are the property of Capcom; I only lay claim to the AU parts of the plot and to the few random OCs that will make appearances here and there. And while you lot read – and hopefully enjoy – the product of my Muse's spastic obsession, please drop a review. =3 Constructive criticism, advice, and suggestions are always welcome, as is gushing enthusiastically about my mind-blowing talent, for flattery will get you everywhere. -wink- Anyway, I need to shut up and get some damn sleep. Peace.**


	6. The Last Escape

**Mreep. More chappies. =D I've decided not to do anything from Umbrella Chronicles and just concentrate on the main series; yes, I know UC elaborates on the plot and there's a few scenarios there that involve Chris and Jill and Wesker, but I'll be putting enough effort into the before/during/after RE5 part as it is. -chuckle- I know you lot are gonna love that part, when I get to it; especially if you happened to object to the ending. -wink-**

**Time will only tell how many chapters it'll take to get through the game. There will be stuff from after the game in this book – after all, there's more to this universe than killing zombies and finding items in the strangest and most random places. There is fluff.**

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It was amazing how fast things went to hell. She should've heeded the warning, but Jill just hadn't wanted to leave Raccoon to its fate. She didn't know what she could do to help, but she didn't want to just run. No one else on the police force knew what was coming; they weren't trained to handle it. S.T.A.R.S. had been the best of the best, and they had emerged from a localized outbreak with half their original numbers. With a whole city falling to chaos, the R.P.D. Blues had no chance. Still, Jill dared not show her face at the station again, lest something unpleasant realize she was still in the city and come looking for her. All the other ex-S.T.A.R.S. had scattered, Except for Brad Vickers – she hadn't seen much of him lately, since they were both laying low. She knew Brad's only family was way across the country, and he didn't want to foist his troubles on them by going to ground in California; it was a surprisingly noble gesture, if one didn't know the nervous pilot as well as she did.

Jill herself… she didn't have much family left. Her aging father, living on his own in upstate New York, was the closest relation she had, and like Brad, she didn't want to give Umbrella a way to get to her. Barry had gotten the right idea by moving himself and his wife and children up to Canada. Chris had mentioned some destination in Europe and promptly disappeared; she wasn't entirely sure where he was, though wherever that was she was sure he was making use of his time. She was a little concerned about his sister, who though being only nineteen and still a sophomore in college, was as determinedly stubborn as he was and would almost certainly go looking for her brother when she realized he was missing. As for the last ex-S.T.A.R.S. … she had no idea where Wesker was. The last she'd heard from the former captain had been a brief phone call, a few weeks ago; he'd merely said he was secure in his position. That statement had held none of the satisfaction one might've expected, for he did not relish having to do more B.O.W. development research, even if it was only to cover up his true agenda. She could well imagine how hard he must have been working, doing double-duty for whoever his employers were and on his own side-project. She missed him terribly, and while she was worried about her own safety and survival in the virus-soaked city, she was also concerned over her fellow teammates, and especially about her beloved.

Jill sighed heavily and finished re-assembling her Beretta. The motions to dissemble, clean and put her handgun back together were so habitual by now that she didn't even need to think about it, which left her mind free to linger over other matters that she would just as soon have forgotten about. She was giving her weapon one last going-over because in her gut, she felt that soon she would need it. Her instincts had served her well throughout her past, first in Delta Force and then in S.T.A.R.S.; she was willing to rely on them again, when she would undoubtedly need every advantage she could get. Things had been building to critical mass since the outbreak started nearly a month ago; it wouldn't be much longer before the breaking point arrived with a bang.

In the distance and growing closer, Jill heard a cacophony of gunshots and screams. She waited tensely for the ruckus to die down; it took hours, but she dared not leave her apartment, knowing she would be walking into a battlefield. Once silence fell, however, it was leaden, so it was with dread and adrenaline racing through her veins that she warily emerged from the scant security of her home. _Farewell to my life. Farewell to my home. This is my last chance for survival. This is my last escape…_

She managed fairly well, getting through the streets infested with zombies, and lasted through the first night of hell. Then, on the morning of September 28th, with the feeling that judgment day was fast approaching, she set out again through the city. It was crawling with infected – her ears even grew accustomed to the sounds of her own footsteps, the _crack_ of her Beretta, and the disconsolate groans of the zombies. It had quickly become evident that making her way through this zombie-infested city to safety was going to be hellish at best, and impossible at worst.

* * *

As Jill approached the front of the police station, she heard the gate's rusty hinges creak behind her; Brad limped up, clutching at a bleeding wound above his right hip. "Unh, Ji-Jill! Nngh…" he grunted, clearly in great pain. Blood dripped from between his fingers, spreading over his yellow vest; Jill wondered in horror what could have dealt such an injury.

"Brad!" she took a step toward him in concern.

"We've gotta –" But Brad never got to finish that sentence, for a hulking dark form dropped from seemingly nowhere and landed between the two ex-S.T.A.R.S., a guttural bellow rumbling up from the depths of its chest. Jill and Brad both lurched backwards, away from the behemoth; the pilot whirled around until his back was against the wall and pleaded, "Jill, help me!"

But before she could come to his aide, the figure she could only assume was some type of Tyrant hauled Brad off his feet so that he dangled, helpless, several feet off the ground. The creature placed its other thick-fingered paw over the pilot's face. Jill had to wince as a tentacle shot out from the behemoth's palm and pierced straight through Brad's head; the creature slung the now-dead pilot carelessly aside, and turned to face her. All of Jill's attention was on her former teammate's destroyed face, bile rising in her throat as blood seeped from the shattered cranium. Heavy footsteps snapped her attention back to the approaching Tyrant. Its expressionless face with white, marble-like eyes and a lipless mouth fixed into a ghoulish grin, baring serrated teeth, was much more human-looking than the Tyrant she'd faced just months ago; the creature's entire body looked like an oversized, over-muscled human, except for the huge tube-like structures crisscrossing its upper torso. "S.T.A.R.S.…" the beast rumbled.

It could _speak_? Granted, not much, but the Tyrant had enunciated the word clearly enough. Brad had said, _'He's after S.T.A.R.S. members,'_ could this thing be what he had meant? But since the creature was drawing closer, she decided to figure that out later and get the hell away from it before she ended up like poor Brad. She could feel sorry for her fallen teammate later; now it was time to ensure her own survival. She had reverted to survival-mode the moment she'd left her apartment the day before; it was a much easier transition this time, after the mansion incident. As much as she hated having been pulled into that situation, she admitted now that it was a damn good thing she'd gotten the experience, because otherwise she might have ended up like the countless other police officers in the R.P.D. who were sprawled dead in the streets, or roaming the alleyways with the other infected. Jill dodged around the Tyrant's broad lunges and managed to slip into the station; behind her, the doors shuddered under the beast's repeated blows.

Jill backed up from the doors, relief flooding through her for a moment, and fled deeper into the station. She didn't want to be around when those doors gave. She wove her way through several rooms and corridors before making it to the S.T.A.R.S. office – having to fight her way through a handful of infected police officers as she went – and once there, made a temporary barricade at the door. She needed a bit of breathing room, and this was about as good as she was going to get for the moment.

She slumped wearily into the chair behind Wesker's desk, glancing with a smile at the group photo of the twelve S.T.A.R.S. members – this was taken before Rebecca joined Bravo – on his desk. A wave of nostalgia flavored with no little sorrow washed over her for a moment, and Jill thought back to some of the more fond memories she had of the team. It was hard to believe all the things that had happened in a short period of time – was it only a little over two months ago that they had gone out drinking, and actually managed to get Wesker buzzed? She doubted any of the others had noticed it. Their defeat hadn't been for lack of trying, but for some strange reason Wesker seemed to have an abnormally high alcohol tolerance. And he didn't even drink much, to Jill's knowledge. She shook her head over that anomaly and with a resigned sigh pulled her cell phone from her pocket.

Not that she didn't want to hear her lover's voice or to get advice, but she knew how he would react when he found out she was caught in the outbreak. Still, she didn't have too much of a choice, and so she dialed his number and hoped to God he wasn't too busy to answer.

Of course, when Wesker heard the phone's vibration buzzing through the benchtop and checked the caller ID, he promptly answered the call. Jill never called him unless it was important. "Good afternoon, dear heart," he greeted. It was nice to get a call, even though he wondered why; it had to be fairly urgent.

He could hear the involuntary smile in her voice. "Polite as always, Albert."

"I do try."

She chuckled lightly for a moment, before she sobered up, looking again at the group portrait. "It's good to hear your voice," she remarked, and sighed. "Listen, Albert, I need some help. I'm sure you know about what's been going on in Raccoon for the past week or two?"

An ominous frown creased his brow. "Yes… Jill, please don't tell me you stayed around and got caught in that outbreak." It was completely something she would do, but by God he didn't need that concern on top of the stress he was already under. Wesker sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding the phone to his ear.

"If I did I'd be lying," she admitted. "But just listen, okay? You can nag me about how dumb an idea it was once I get out of here."

"I certainly will." The dark tone of his voice brought a half-smile back to her lips. "Where are you right now, dear heart?"

"In the S.T.A.R.S. office at the station."

"That was idiotic, that building is probably crawling with infected," Wesker snapped crossly.

"Every damn building in this city is crawling with infected, Albert, and the streets are too. I can't turn around without having a zombie breathing down my neck." Jill took a deep breath to calm her rising temper. "Not to mention, I'm sort of stuck in the station for the moment."

The tyrant's voice had a sharp edge when he inquired, "And why is that?"

"Because some sort of Tyrant is after me," she explained acerbically. "It looks like a huge, half-rotten human. It even talks, though it only said one word. Brad said it was after S.T.A.R.S. members, and I have no reason to doubt him – the thing killed him just before it went for me."

Suddenly, Wesker voice was urgent. "A large, humanoid Tyrant? How human did it look?"

"Well, it was clearly not a human, but it looked way more human than the Tyrant we fought a couple months ago. It was about the same size, too. It has tentacles that come from its hand, and possibly different places." Jill was perplexed by his sudden intensity, and grew concerned when she heard him curse under his breath.

Oh yes, he remembered the Nemesis project. While he and William had been focusing on making a stronger Tyrant, a lab in Paris was aiming for a smarter Tyrant, and the NE-α parasite had been their answer to that. He remembered administering the parasite to Lisa Trevor, and slowly watching it be absorbed into her festering body. That was where William had gotten the basis for his G-virus project; the same project that had spawned the experimental virus his body harbored. If the Parisian lab had been as successful as he'd heard, then Jill was in great danger. It sounded like they'd implanted the parasite in one of the generic T-103 models, but that wasn't unexpected; the T-103 Tyrants were the most functional of the line.

"Albert, you know what's going on, don't you," Jill asked flatly.

"I know about as much as you do, dear heart, but I think I know what that Tyrant was. It's part of a project called Nemesis that was designed to produce a Tyrant that was intelligent enough to follow orders and perform more human-like tasks. If the Tyrant you encountered is a Nemesis, then it will not leave you alone until either you are dead or it is. And it is probably going to be more difficult to kill than the Tyrant from the Arklay lab." By the tone of his voice, Jill could imagine what was going through Wesker's head, and though she had blanched slightly in horror at the thought of an intelligent Tyrant, she cut in before he could speak again.

"You can't come here, Albert. If that thing is after S.T.A.R.S. like Brad said, then you'll be just as much of a target as I am. Besides, I thought you were supposed to be laying low and researching your virus," she insisted.

Wesker growled in the back of his throat; not a very human-sounding noise. "Between the two of us, who has a better chance against the Nemesis? I think I do. But you're jumping to conclusions again, Jill, because I wasn't going to rush into the thick of an outbreak. There are likely to be U.B.C.S. operatives all over the place, and I'd rather not reappear on Umbrella's radar right now. Be wary, my dear, because you may see people walking around wearing the Umbrella logo. Do _not_ trust them no matter how altruistic they may sound." Besides the risk of running into a squad of U.B.C.S., there was also the Organization to deal with; he knew they were already preparing to send an operative into the outbreak zone, because wherever Umbrella went there was obviously something tasty to be acquired. If he went in and was spotted by the other Organization operative, there would be problems.

"I could've figured that out on my own, Albert. I'm not stupid." She was irked by the slightly superior tone of his voice, as if he was instructing someone ignorant of the dangers. She'd been through the mansion too, she knew about Umbrella's treachery. The stress of the past several hours was piling up to make her waspish, and her temper was only exacerbated by the terseness she heard in Wesker's voice.

"No, dear heart, you are not. I never accused you of being stupid. I'm just trying to help you," he said, suddenly with a softer tone.

The abrupt change cooled some of Jill's irritation. "I know, I know. I'm sorry for snapping so much, Albert –"

He chuckled. "You have every right to be snappy; I don't blame you. But right now that won't do you much good."

"Yes sir," she replied wryly, and was rewarded with another mirthful snort. "And since you seem to know what the thing after me is, can you tell me how best to kill it?" She would have liked to continue the conversation, but she could hear a few infected approaching her temporary haven, and she didn't want to be caught on the phone if they got in.

"The thing after you is the same type of thing you fought two months ago, just improved. You've probably already seen that it is faster and more agile than the Tyrant from the lab, right? And since it's a Nemesis it will probably be able to heal at an abnormally fast rate and withstand a lot more than another T-type." Wesker sighed grimly. "There's not much advice I can give you, my dear. Just find a powerful weapon if you can and try to kill it. Stay on the move so it has to keep tracking you down, maybe try to throw it off your trail."

At least it was something; at least she had a better idea what was in store now. "All right. Thank you, Albert. Just promise me that you won't get into this – Umbrella agents or not. It's not worth it." It was enough that she was in the middle of this waking nightmare; there didn't need to be any more deaths.

"I have faith in you, dear heart. I'll promise you that as long as you promise _me_ that you'll get out of there in one piece. I would be very upset if anything happened to you."

Jill smiled fondly. "You have a deal. I love you, Albert."

"And I love you, my very dear heart. Come back to me soon."

Jill ended the call before the good-byes became too drawn out, because just on the other side of the door, she could hear a few muffled groans and an occasional _thud_ as the infected attempted to break through the door, and from the sounds they were inflicting some damage to the office door; it was time to move on.

* * *

The Nemesis kept coming after her; infected were around every corner. In fact, she started to see the infected as fixtures and not the aberrations they really were. She'd dealt with them enough by now. It made her sad to think that she'd come to the point that the horror of the outbreak was beginning to numb, but there was only so long a person could feel an emotion before it stopped affecting them the same way. Being desensitized was better than being dead, she supposed, but she knew she should still have to fight back nausea at the cloying smell of decay the zombies carried with them, and her heart should still leap into her throat every time she rounded a corner to find a pair of milky, soulless eyes staring at her. She had cycled through so many emotions that she was laboring on under a pall of numbness; just go from one crisis to the other, from one enemy to the next, slowly losing sight of the ultimate goal while she was overwhelmed with the short-term. Jill felt like she couldn't see the forest for the trees.

She arrived at the cable car and found it empty except for Mikhail; apparently Carlos was still out scavenging for supplies. So Jill did the repairs herself and cranked up the car – and for once something was going right, because it started and kept running. It wheezed asthmatically, but it ran. She let out her breath in a heavy sigh and sat down to wait for Carlos. She decided that if Nicholai didn't show up before Carlos got back, then she would insist that they leave him behind. She'd seen from Carlos' behavior that he sensed something up with the Sergeant. And screw tangible proof, her instincts had never let her down before and they all agreed that that man wasn't to be trusted. Just then, her cell phone buzzed; she checked the caller ID and immediately accepted the call. "Albert?"

"Yes. Dear heart, you sound awful. How have you been faring? I've tried to contact you once or twice before but you must not have noticed – I was beginning to worry."

Jill held the phone away from her ear for a moment and sure enough, at the top of the screen was the icon that meant she'd missed a call. "I'm sorry, love, I was busy. This is the first real breather I've had since I called you."

"It's all right. You answered this time, and that's all I need." She could hear in his voice how worried he'd been, and it brought a genuine smile to her lips.

"I don't deserve you, but since I've got you anyway, I love you so much."

"And I you, dear heart," he murmured. "But tell me, how is it going?"

Jill sighed heavily. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. I'm not dead yet. The Nemesis is still after me – fucker won't stay dead! I did run into some U.B.C.S., but they've had it as bad as anyone else, so it's down to two or three of them. My best chance of getting out of here is with them. They've got a chopper on standby to get them out. Right now we're about to get to the pickup point, as soon as Carlos gets back."

Now Wesker voice was ominous and wary. "Jill, that is a _very_ bad idea," he began, but she cut him off.

"I trust Carlos, Albert. He's a good guy. There's one wounded man here, and I don't want to leave him behind. The other one… I don't trust him any farther than I could throw him, which is why I plan on leaving him behind if at all possible. Give me some credit, please – I know what I'm doing." Stubbornness had crept into her tone, and Wesker recognized that – she was as bad as Chris sometimes. There was no arguing with her. And in the abstract, he did trust her judgment, but it was hard to do that when he was so far away and helpless to come to her aid.

"As you wish, dear heart. You make your own decisions. But let me give some food for thought, if I may?" She didn't say otherwise, so he continued. "It's all well and good if you manage to get to the pickup point and get lifted out by their helicopter. But that helicopter is going to go right back to a U.B.C.S. base, and then what will you do? You realize they won't let you go just like that, no matter what your friend Carlos says in your defense. This outbreak is Umbrella's fault, and they are going to catch a _lot_ of flak for it. Companies like Umbrella do not enjoy blows to their reputation like that. They will probably be trying desperately to eliminate evidence that incriminates them – and that evidence includes survivors."

Jill chewed on her chapped lower lip grimly. He had a point. Could that be what Nicholai was actually doing when he shot that man? That explanation made more and more sense as she continued to mull it over. And that meant she had a big, fat target painted in red on her forehead – all the more reason to make sure Nicholai didn't make it to the cable car. She wouldn't kill him in cold blood since she had no solid proof as of yet, but she would leave him to fend for himself. It was still humanly possible, if difficult, to make it to the clock tower on foot, and that fact would placate her conscience. "You have a point," she admitted. "But this is the only way I can see myself getting out. Trying to walk to the outskirts of the city and then make it to the nearest civilization – do you realize how far that is? No, this is the only way. I'll deal with the drawbacks of this plan when I get to them, but the more immediate problem remains getting out of the city."

He'd give her that. "True. As I said before, my dear, you make your own decisions – you're the one in the thick of it, after all. I'm only an ill-informed spectator." Wesker sighed. "Just remember that you promised me you would get out of there in one piece."

One of the wonderful things about him was that Wesker was an independent man who often preferred to do things himself, and he also was of the opinion that people should do their own thing – and make their own mistakes – without someone else meddling. So although it was clear that he was still worried and wary about her temporary alliance with the U.B.C.S., he bowed to her judgment. And he had also realized that he wasn't exactly in any position to help, since he knew little about the situation. Jill smiled fondly. "I'll keep my promise, Albert," she assured him. Then, from outside the cable car, she heard footsteps approaching, and was back on her guard. "I have to go now, I'll talk to you again soon. I love you."

"I'll hold you to it, dear heart." He hung up. Jill tucked the phone back into her pocket and waited for the footsteps to enter the car, Beretta held ready to fire; then it turned out that the footsteps were Carlos, so she lowered the handgun and smiled in relief. Now it was time to get the hell out.

* * *

_Bong… Bong… Bong…_

The sound of impending rescue was music to Jill's ears at that moment, and she had to pause to just listen, smiling. It was loud enough that wherever Carlos was, he would be able to hear it, and he would come running when he realized the chopper had been summoned. They would finally get out of there. She trotted back down through the tower, nearly giddy with relief, and came out into the open just as the helicopter made its first circle around the tower. "Down here!" she called, waving her arms to gain the pilot's attention. The setting sun's rusty light struck her face and warmed it as she thought, _It's finally over._

A loud noise behind her made Jill turn; the blood drained from her face when she saw the Nemesis with a rocket launcher braced on its shoulder, and a rocket leaving its barrel. She followed the rocket's path with her eyes, dismay and denial running circles through her thoughts, and Jill felt like screaming when the rocket collided with the helicopter's tail and engulfed it in flames. Though its visage was expressionless, Jill imagined that the Nemesis was sneering tauntingly when it rumbled a growl at her. The creature jumped down from its perch and stalked over to her. "S.T.A.R.S.…" It swung the huge rocket launcher at her like some sort of monstrous cudgel, and as she danced away from the lunge, the Nemesis extended its other hand. Why had she forgotten that it could wield tentacles like another weapon? The tentacle emerged from the Nemesis' palm and pierced right through her shoulder before she could even blink; the pain spread like fire down her arm and through her chest, even after the creature removed its tentacle with a harsh jerk. She'd had plenty of shoulder injuries before and none of them had hurt this much; that was a bad sign. But the Nemesis was still coming, so Jill had to put the pain in the back of her mind and focus on not getting hit again. It was actually not all that hard to do, as a big jolt of adrenaline soon found its way through her veins and nicely dulled the pain, and sharpened her reactions while it was at it. She did love adrenaline in times like this.

And she did _not_ like rockets. Thankfully it wasn't all that hard to figure out when they were fired and from where – getting out of the way was the problem. She didn't want to be caught by one of those explosions. She was just too angry at the Nemesis to run away this time – and where was she going to go? Her hope for rescue had been shot down – so Jill fought the behemoth. It was a grueling battle with her shoulder so mangled; she was outmatched in size, strength and endurance, but Jill felt like she was cornered so she had no lack of belligerence on her side. She was running out of ammo, energy and adrenaline and was about to give up hope of ever killing the thing when the Nemesis finally staggered backward into the fire, and with a rasping growl of pain, it collapsed. Jill stood there for a moment, panting heavily for breath and clutching her bleeding shoulder. Was it dead? It looked dead, but she knew better than to think it was beaten. She was just waiting for the beast to get back up or something of the sort. Then again, it was still in the fire, and surely being cooked would impede its recovery. Maybe she'd actually killed it once and for all this time.

But after a few moments, all the exertion she'd just been through caught up with her. Fatigue and _pain_ hit her like a brick wall and her knees buckled; her vision blurred, and everything went black. She was unconscious even before she hit the ground. She didn't see when, a few moments later, Carlos vaulted over the fire and trotted into the courtyard. He'd heard the bell sounding and seen the chopper, then the blast that had destroyed it. The young merc had sprinted as fast as he could to the scene, but when he saw Jill limp and unmoving on the ground, his stomach lurched. He was too late. "Jill!" He fell to his knees next to her and pulled the invalid into his lap. "Jill, hang in there! What have I done? I shouldn't have left her… I'm sorry, Jill. Please, wake up!" he clutched the senseless woman to him desperately. His only friend couldn't die – she couldn't leave him alone! It was his fault for going off on his own – cocky, stupid, he could handle himself, so he had just taken it for granted that she could too. She'd saved him that first time, after all.

Carlos swallowed back the lump in his throat and looked around. What had done this? He didn't see any bodies around, but he could certainly smell burning flesh. Well, whatever it was, it had gotten her good. Carlos lifted Jill's wrist to check her pulse, and to his intense relief there was a faint flutter there. She was still alive. "Just hang in there, Jill. I'll take care of you until you're better." He set about bandaging the hole in her shoulder; he'd patch her up later, but for now the priority was to get out of the open and somewhere safer. The young merc stood with one of Jill's arms over his shoulder and his free arm around her waist, and carried her into a nearby chapel. It was safe there, if anywhere in this God-forsaken hellhole was safe.

Once inside, he spread Jill carefully on one of the pews and looked her over for other injuries besides the shoulder wound. There didn't seem to be anything else wrong. He dug through the pouches hanging from his belt and found a canister of first-aid spray; good stuff, that. It disinfected as it healed, so with any luck, she would be able to walk away from this injury with nothing amiss. How was Carlos to know that as soon as the Nemesis had struck her, the slick residue coating its tentacle that was rich in NE-T started to infect? It was already too late. But he did all he could do for her. It looked like just fatigue and the pain from her injury was what had made her pass out; he hoped that with a little rest now that her wound was closed that she would recover. Carlos looked around at the chapel and sent out a fervent prayer that Jill would make it through.

There wasn't much for Carlos to do after that other than wait. He constantly checked to make sure Jill was still alive, and occasionally patrolled around the chapel to be sure no infected got in. Several hours went by and nothing happened; the monotony was starting to make him nervous. Shouldn't Jill have come to by now? He went to check her pulse again, but before he could touch her, the cell phone he hadn't known was in her pocket buzzed urgently. Puzzled, Carlos pulled the device out and saw that the caller was supposedly someone named Albert Wesker. Huh. Still, he answered the call, wondering why this guy would be calling her now of all times. "Hello?"

The caller paused for a moment, and when he finally did speak his voice was harsh. "Who are you?"

"My name's Carlos, but that's not really important right now." Carlos didn't entirely blame the guy for that edge to his voice; he was probably expecting Jill, but he got this stranger instead.

Wesker snorted scathingly. "Carlos from the U.B.C.S., then? Where is Jill?"

"How do – uh. Yeah, I'm with Umbrella. Jill is right here with me, but she can't answer the phone," the young merc explained, surprised. Apparently Jill had been in contact with this guy before now, or else he wouldn't know about the U.B.C.S..

"And why is that?" Wesker asked tersely. "If she got injured, I should like to know."

Carlos sighed and looked over his shoulder at the still-unconscious woman. "She passed out a while ago, and I don't know why she won't wake up. She had this hole in her shoulder, but I fixed it. I think it was the pain from that and just exhaustion that made her faint… I hope. I dunno, she might've been sitting there for a while before I got there – she was already out when I got to her."

Wesker's voice hardened. "How long ago did this happen? When did you find her?"

"About sunset, so I'd say four or five hours."

The tyrant was silent for a moment before he continued. "What did the wound look like, a bite or scratch?"

Carlos thought back with a frown. "Uh, no. It was like she'd been stabbed, but not with a knife. It was bigger than that." Now that he thought about it, that was strange. Then he thought about how the guy had worded his question, and blanched slightly. "What, do you think she got infected?" That was quite a conclusion to jump to – but then again, they were in the middle of an outbreak. And maybe he was just making sure.

"I don't know yet, that's why I'm asking. Did you check her over at all before you treated the wound?"

The young merc fought back the urge to bristle at his tone. "Of course I did, but she wasn't hurt anywhere else that I saw."

A sigh came over the phone line. "You were looking for flesh wounds, not signs of infection. Do you know what to look for?" About now was the point Wesker wished he was there, because this mercenary probably had no idea how to perform a proper check.

"Uh, no," Carlos admitted sheepishly; Wesker had to give him credit for honesty.

"All right, I'll walk you through it. Look at her skin first – what does it look like? Is there redness or a strange texture to it? Look first around where she was wounded, it would show up there before anywhere else."

Carlos lightly touched her shoulder where she had been hurt, but he saw nothing more than the angry pink flush that indicated a wound healed by first aid spray. It didn't feel any different; neither did the skin anywhere else he looked. "No, her skin looks and feels normal."

"All right, check her pulse now."

"I already did that," Carlos protested.

"But were you looking for irregular palpitations?" Since Carlos didn't even know what that word meant, he had to admit he hadn't. "So find her pulse and relay it to me."

Obediently the merc pressed his fingers under Jill's jaw and vocally mimicked the pattern her heartbeats made. "Well?" he asked when Wesker said he could stop.

"A bit slow, but otherwise normal. Did you bother to look at her eyes when you checked her over?"

Since he hadn't, Carlos didn't bother replying, and gingerly lifted one of Jill's eyelids. "What am I looking for?"

"Anything out of the ordinary. Just describe what you see – color, pupil size, everything."

"Well, I think one pupil is a little bigger than the other, but she may have gotten a concussion jumping out of the cable car earlier. Her eyes look a little bloodshot but that's it. The color is still the same ol' gray, nothing different."

Wesker frowned thoughtfully. Up close Jill's eyes were usually more brown than gray, but it could just be the lighting wherever they were. "Hnn. It doesn't sound like there's anything wrong. If there is any change in any of the things you just checked, or in her breathing patterns – or if she doesn't wake up within twelve hours – you tell me immediately."

"All right. Hey, how do you know all that, anyway? Who are you?" Carlos was eaten alive with curiosity – and now that he thought about it, suspicion. Who was this guy that he seemed to know what a t-virus infection looked like?

Wesker chuckled darkly. "I used to work for Umbrella, and that's all you need to know for now, Carlos. Keep Jill safe for me." Then he hung up. Carlos aborted the call and stood there for a moment, looking at the phone and frowning. If _that_ wasn't fishy he didn't know what was. He didn't like it one bit that the guy had been so vague. Well, at least he'd learned one thing: from his parting shot, it sounded like Jill was important to him. It made Carlos feel a little better to know that she had someone else looking out for her, even if the guy sounded a little shady.

Six more hours went by that Carlos spent dozing on and off. When he woke again just before dawn and went to check on Jill, he found something he hadn't expected. The skin on her shoulder was reddened, now, and when he touched it, it felt pulpy; it split to allow blood to ooze out. In the center of the patch the skin was grayish. He checked the rest of her, and several other places were beginning to look the same. With his heart in his mouth Carlos checked her pulse, and found it erratic and labored – when he checked her respiration, he found the same general pattern. Swallowing hard, he pulled back one of her eyelids. The color was definitely paler than before and her pupil was elliptical.

The phone call jolted Wesker out of sleep, but when he saw that the caller was using Jill's cell phone, he promptly got over his irritation and answered it. "Yes?"

"Hey man, something's happening to Jill. Her skin looks like it's dying and her eyes look funny… I think she's infected," Carlos explained worriedly. "When I touched her, her skin broke open and bled. Her heart and her breathing is real off. Is she gonna be okay?"

Wesker swore under his breath. "How big is the largest patch of dying skin?"

"Not very big – it's smaller than my palm, but a little bit of it in the middle turned gray."

Wesker relaxed marginally, but his voice still had an urgent edge. "And you just now noticed it?" Shamefaced, Carlos agreed. "Well, if it's taken nearly twelve hours to get this far, then we have a chance. She won't completely turn for another day or two at this rate. Tell me where you are right now, Carlos."

"The chapel across the street from the St. Michael Clock Tower… you aren't gonna come in here, are you? That's crazy, man! You're gonna get killed!"

"Let me be the judge of that, Carlos," Wesker remarked lowly, before abruptly ending the call. The young merc barely stopped himself from spitting a curse. So now there was someone _else_ coming in here? Former Umbrella employee – whatever that meant – or not, the guy was setting himself up for death. What was he thinking?

Behind him, Jill twitched restlessly, her face contorted in discomfort. Carlos set the phone down and knelt by her side, concerned, and brushed a hank of hair out of her face. "Hang in there, Jill. Someone's coming to help… I just hope that guy can make it here."

* * *

**Cliffhangers whee. =D But it's really not much of a cliffhanger since by the time anyone notices this chapter, the next few will also be up. That's the drawback of publishing several chapters at once. Oh well.**


	7. Infected

**Guh, long chapters. I'm sorry if you peeps looked forward to me actually going more along with the events of the game than I did with the first part – well, I did, a little – but it would've made it **_**way**_** too long, and I am lazy. Besides, remember in the AN last chapter I promised that there is stuff in this part that happens after the events of the game.**

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The sun had glided across the sky and sunk below the horizon before anything happened; Carlos was roused from a light doze by the sounds of combat: guttural bellows and grunts, gunfire, crashes when something went flying. He lurched upright and went to investigate. What met his eyes as he found the source of the cacophony made the young merc question his vision.

Wesker was fighting off the still living but heavily mutated Nemesis. Wesker could tell that the Tyrant had sustained considerable damage to have mutated so, but it still had not lost sight of its mission. It had been casting about for Jill's trail, but when the ex-captain caught its attention, it naturally switched targets. It had been given IDs of all thirteen S.T.A.R.S. officers, though most – including Wesker – had been on the record as dead.

The Nemesis lashed at Wesker's feet with its tentacles and succeeded in tangling them up so that the other tyrant fell heavily. Carlos took a step forward with his rifle raised, but Wesker spotted him. "No, stay where you are!" he barked.

Carlos opened his mouth to protest that he was nuts for refusing help – but what Wesker did next shocked him into silence, leaving his mouth hanging open. Wesker had quickly tired of just playing around with this Nemesis to test its strength; he needed to get to Jill. So he grabbed the tentacles that had coiled around his ankles and ripped them off; the Nemesis gurgled angrily and tried to pull free, but it had found an opponent against whose strength it was evenly matched. Wesker surged to his feet and hauled on the tentacle he still held, which pulled the Nemesis off balance so that it toppled over and was dragged across the ground, headfirst into the wall. The creature bellowed in pain and staggered to its feet as Wesker released it. The smaller tyrant leaped clear over it and onto the wall where a row of stained glass windows let in the last of twilight's bluey light, and stood firm on the shallow ledge while the Nemesis lashed out again with whiplike tentacles. The thing wasn't very original with its attacks; the blows were predictable and easy to avoid, especially as fast as he was. Frustration brought up a rumbling growl from the Nemesis and it jumped up to where its victim stood – finally. Before the Nemesis could launch another attack Wesker darted up to it and jumped up so he was clinging to its mutated, reeking upper body. It staggered backward in surprise as he pulled a powerful S&W magnum from its holster and unloaded several consecutive shots into its head and neck; he then let go, and aimed a savage kick at the Tyrant's ribs that sent the injured, weaving creature crashing into the window and down to the ground outside. Wesker dropped to the floor.

Carlos stood slack-jawed as Wesker coolly put up his weapon and picked up the leather coat he'd discarded to fight with the Nemesis, then approached him at a leisurely walk. If the Nemesis had inflicted any injuries on him, Carlos couldn't see it. The ex-S.T.A.R.S. captain paused about six feet from Carlos and quirked an eyebrow. "I'll get killed, will I?" he inquired wryly. He had no sunglasses on, so Carlos could clearly see his blood-colored eyes.

The young merc snapped his teeth back together and swallowed. "What _are_ you?"

Wesker stepped past Carlos into the smaller chamber where Jill was. "I used to be human. Now I'm more like the thing I just knocked out of the window, but I can still think and feel human emotions." Carlos had backed away when the tyrant passed him, then when he realized where Wesker was heading, he trotted into the room after him.

Wesker knelt next to Jill's still unconscious form and checked over her much like he'd had Carlos do, but more in-depth, since he knew what he was doing. The tyrant's expression remained grim.

"So, what? Can we save her?" Carlos inquired, concerned by the look on Wesker's face.

"When last I heard, Umbrella had some of its researchers develop an antivirus to halt the progress of a t-virus infection. They called it a vaccine but it starts working after the infection starts to take over, so it's not a vaccine in the technical sense of the word. If that antivirus is anywhere it will be at the hospital – they would have moved it there when they first became aware that an outbreak might happen in the city."

"So we just have to get to the hospital and find the antivirus?" Carlos perked up, eagerly gripping his rifle. "What are we waiting for, let's go!"

"_You_ just have to get to the hospital and find the antivirus," Wesker corrected wryly. "I'm sorry I can't help but there are probably still some of your friends from the Countermeasure Service running around, and I can't be seen by any of them. The hospital was always crawling with Umbrella's people and I'm sure the security feed on those cameras is still being watched – Umbrella thinks I am dead and they need to keep thinking that. I ran enough of a risk just coming here but now that that Nemesis knows I'm here it will be after me as well. I can_not_ afford to be seen."

Carlos eyed the tyrant with wary incredulity. "So if it's so dangerous then why did you come here in the first place? You could've just told me what to look for in the hospital over the phone."

He glanced back down at Jill. "I felt like I should be here for her, in case you can't find the antivirus in time," Wesker said so softly that Carlos could barely hear him. That statement made Carlos' expression soften; it looked like his original supposition about how this guy felt about Jill was true. If that was the case, then Carlos decided he was comfortable leaving to go get the antivirus. Initially, he had been of the opinion that no matter what they _both_ would go, so that he could keep an eye on the tyrant. He'd been just too wary about him from that show in the other room. He still was rather incredulous about that, but Wesker was acting like any normal human now; and maybe Carlos had just seen too many uncanny things lately to react as violently as he might have once upon a time.

Wesker broke him out of his moment of contemplation by handing him Jill's phone. "My number is in her call history if you need to get in touch. I never worked in the hospital so I really don't know my way around it that well – you're on your own navigating. But if you have to use any of the machinery, which you might if the antivirus hasn't been synthesized in a large enough dose, let me know if you have difficulties getting them to work. Most of those machines are fairly user-friendly so there shouldn't be a problem." Carlos took the device and nodded.

"Got it. Wish me luck." The young merc hefted his rifle in a businesslike manner and trotted toward the door of the chapel, and then was gone.

Wesker looked back down at Jill and cupped his hand against her cheek. Her expression was peaceful now, not even her eyelids flickered to indicate REM sleep; he knew she was still unconscious. Her body was fighting hard to keep the virus at bay, and like with almost every other human, she was losing the battle. That was one reason why he had opted to come so far out of his way – he wasn't as sure as he'd sounded to Carlos that the antivirus would be in the hospital. In fact he rather doubted the components to make it would be there, much less a fully synthesized sample. If that was indeed the case, he wanted to be by Jill's side; letting her complete the transformation into a zombie would be incredibly cruel. She deserved better than that. He didn't know whether Carlos would be able to get back to her in time, or if he would have it in him to give her mercy. That, and Wesker wanted to be the one to give it, should that need arise. He owed it to her.

Suddenly, under his touch, Jill stirred slightly. Her eyes opened and peered about with a sort of hazy bemusement clouding her expression. But then her eyes lit on his face and widened. "Albert?" she breathed, lifting one hand weakly to touch his cheek.

Oh yes, she recognized him. Cognition and memory were always the last to go – the virus was cruel that way. Victims could think and reason and remember up until the very end. The brain didn't start to deteriorate until later stages of the infection, once the viral cells started needing massive amounts of food energy to power them; the brain tissue was mostly unnecessary in a zombie and was rich in energy.

"I'm here, dear heart," he murmured.

Jill frowned blearily and tried to sit up, but he pushed her gently back down. "No, you promised me you wouldn't come. Why did you come here, Albert?"

"Because you promised _me_ that you would get yourself out in one piece, remember? Two wrongs don't make a right, I know, but when you broke your word I saw no reason to hold up my end of the bargain." She looked at him in wary confusion, so Wesker pointed to the patch of dying skin on her shoulder where the Nemesis had stabbed her. "What does that look like, dear heart? You're infected."

She blanched. Jill lifted one hand to gingerly touch the pulpy, gray skin at the center of the dying area, and as Carlos had seen, it broke open as soon as her finger touched it, but this wound only bled a little. "But… how? I don't feel –" She paused as a look of growing horror spread across her face.

"I'm sure you don't feel much of anything, do you?" Wesker asked softly. "The touch receptors on your skin have shut down, so even though your nerves are still firing, you have no feeling on your skin. Be glad for that, because if that wasn't the case you would be in extreme pain." Jill looked up at him with tears beading in the corners of her eyes. He could hear her thinking _I don't want to die… Please, help me._

He wiped the tears from her eyes and took Jill's face in both hands. "Your friend Carlos is finding the antivirus for you as we speak, Jill. We'll do everything we can. Hush now, dear heart, and rest. I'm here; I'll keep you safe until he gets back with the cure. Now that I'm here, I'm not leaving you."

His words seemed to reassure her, for the tears did not return, though Jill's expression lost little of its anxiety; not that Wesker blamed her in the least. Hadn't _he_ been near panic when he'd first become infected? At least Jill was in a marginally better position than his had been: it was a virus that was well known, and she had someone there with her who knew about all there was to know about how it worked – not to mention that possible antivirus. Wesker sat on the pew by her head and pulled Jill into his lap, where she cuddled against him gratefully.

"How long do I have?" she asked at length. Since Wesker was there and could answer her questions, Jill didn't feel quite as frightened or horrified as she probably would have, had it just been Carlos there with her – he knew what was going on. Even though it had been a foolish move on his part to come into the outbreak, she was intensely glad he had, for at least now she would be able to see him before she died, if she did meet her end.

"It's been a little over twenty-six hours since you contracted the virus, according to Carlos; at the rate it seems to be progressing, it may take another day or two for the infection to reach the point of no return, as long as the rate of infection remains constant." He combed his hand soothingly through her hair. "That should give Carlos more than enough time to find the antivirus." _If it's there. If it isn't, then he'll have time to look through the hospital for anything else that could possibly help._

"I didn't even know there was an antidote… I thought viruses were hard to cure unless you got vaccinated," Jill mused.

"One would think so." He shrugged slightly. "But considering the sort of technology and resources Umbrella has on hand, they can pull things off that by all rights should be impossible."

Jill snorted scathingly and remarked, "Should be, but apparently aren't. Times like this bring to mind that old adage, _truth is stranger than fiction_. Sometimes I feel like a character in a bad horror movie or something."

Wesker chuckled lightly and leaned down to press his lips to her brow. "Indeed." He was impressed that she could keep up some semblance of her usual sense of humor. If she could manage a bit of sarcasm for her situation, then her spirit wasn't as broken as he'd thought it was a few moments ago. Perhaps she was using it to keep herself from brooding and bringing her mood down even more.

She fell quiet again after that, apparently having dozed off; that was good. She needed to conserve her energy so her body could fight off the virus. Wesker gently slid out from under her and did a little exploring in the chapel, and returned shortly after that with water in a jug he had found, and a glass. Why Carlos hadn't thought to dribble water past her lips escaped him – or maybe he'd been afraid that she would choke on it. Either way, her body still needed fluids. When he sat back down and pulled her back into his lap, Jill opened her eyes again to watch him.

"Sorry I woke you," Wesker murmured as he leaned over to pour water into the glass for her to drink. He held the glass to her lips but had to pull it back a bit when she tried to take a big gulp of the water. Jill grimaced resentfully when he chided her not to drink so fast, but obediently took smaller sips until the glass was empty.

"I never feel asleep," she remarked while Wesker refilled the glass. "I was just thinking."

She refused the second glass, so he set it on the floor nearby. "Thinking about what?"

Jill stared off into space for a moment, but then switched her gaze to his face. "Just being morbid, but I was wondering what it felt like when you died."

A faint snort escaped; of course she would wonder about that. He'd deftly sidestepped her gentle but probing questions about that before – it wasn't an experience he felt like sharing – but now that she was in a similar situation, didn't that entitle her to fair warning? Wesker sighed. He didn't think anything could really prepare someone for that sort of experience; and anyway, if she did succumb to the virus, hers would probably be different from what his had been. He hadn't really begun to think about what he'd gone through for the purpose of trying to interpret what happened – he was still trying his hardest not to let the memories creep into his dreams to the point where he became an insomniac just to escape the nightmares. He didn't want to make matters any worse than they already were. Not to mention, there was just something about those horrible nightmares and the memories that spawned them that made him not want to share them with anyone, much less Jill. He doubted she or anyone else would be able to understand why it had been so traumatic: what was so horrible about feeling nothing? But total sensory deprivation was a known torture method, as he had discovered quite pointedly.

Jill inclined her head to one side, and reached up to softly touch his cheek. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. I was just morbidly curious." When he had continued to avoid answering her questions she had stopped asking, but that didn't mean she didn't still want to know. But since it seemed like a touchy subject, she hadn't brought it up. She didn't want to press him and only make him clam up tighter. He had a tendency to do that – it drove her to distraction sometimes, when Wesker would keep his troubles to himself and bottle up the stress. But that was just how he was, and she didn't want him to change just because it got on her nerves.

He leaned his face into her hand and half-smiled. "You're entitled to that, I think. Just realize that it's entirely possible my experience was unique, given the circumstances." The tyrant took a deep breath, expelled it in a sigh, and fixed his gaze on the wall as he explained. "First there was a lot of pain – the worst I've ever experienced. I think it overloaded my senses, because that was all I was aware of for a while. Then… the closest analogy I can think of is when you touch a hot surface, and it's so hot it feels almost cold. I'd lost track of the passing of time fairly quickly so I couldn't tell you how long the pain lasted, but eventually it went away and took everything else with it. At first the lack of sensation was a relief, but when nothing happened, it stopped being so pleasant." He paused, and Jill watched an odd grimace twist his expression slightly. "I don't know whether you've heard of isolation tanks, but they can be used as torture devices that have the advantage of not inflicting any bodily harm on the victim, and they tend to break people much more effectively than other methods like water-boarding." He'd done some research on the devices recently, just out of morbid curiosity, and it seemed he was fortunate to have been liberated from the void as quickly as he had. Much longer and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder would have been the least of his worries.

Her eyes widened. No wonder he'd been unwilling to relate his experience, if it had been that bad. No wonder he had nightmares. Jill's thumb gently stroked his cheek. "I'm sorry, Albert… are you going to be all right? I mean, I know you've been having nightmares lately –"

With a fond smile, Wesker touched a finger to her lips to cut her off. "I revived before much permanent damage was done, dear heart, don't worry yourself." Only Jill would worry about him when she was the one whose body was slowly being taken over with the t-virus; it was one reason why he loved her so much. She was so selfless.

"I will worry myself, thank you. What else do you have besides nightmares?" she asked, still frowning in concern.

He couldn't help but shake his head slightly at her antics. "Try putting a blindfold or noise-cancelling headphones on me and see what I do," he remarked wryly. "My dear, you have more important things to worry about right now than my psychological health."

Jill still didn't seem convinced, as she snorted scathingly. "Maybe so, but I'd rather worry about you than think about what's happening to me right now." Contemplating her own mortality was not something she preferred to do, especially since her imagination was quite vivid enough to produce a number of unpleasant scenarios. If she didn't redirect her thoughts, she knew they would drift toward wondering whether Carlos would be able to find the antivirus, or if he would be killed before he got back, and she really didn't want to think about that.

He'd give her that. It was easier to contemplate someone else's troubles than one's own. "And you are also entirely too selfless and compassionate for your own good," Wesker retorted, earning himself a roll of Jill's eyes. "But now that your curiosity is sated, you need to rest. Sleep, dear heart."

She turned her face into Wesker's chest, pressing closer to the comforting warmth radiating from his skin. She had grown accustomed to all the new changes like heightened body temperature and his uncanny strength surprisingly quickly; by now, the way she behaved it was as if he'd been this way since she'd met him. Still, her eyes didn't close. "I don't feel tired," she lied; he easily saw through it and snorted. "I don't want to go to sleep. If I do, I'm afraid I won't wake up again."

He glanced down at her sympathetically and cradled her closer. "Shall I wake you up periodically, then? You need to drink regularly anyway." He paused to think for a moment. "I gave Carlos your phone so he could stay in touch; if he calls, I'll wake you up so you can listen to the call."

Jill smiled slightly; he knew what to say to make her feel better. "Thank you, Albert." He lightly kissed her brow as she allowed her eyes to droop closed, and it didn't take long after that for sleep to claim her.

A few hours passed uneventfully. Then, Wesker snapped out of the half-waking doze he'd let himself slip into when faint sounds from several rooms away made their way to his ears. He had to focus hard on the noises since they were muffled by distance, but as they drew closer he thought he recognized heavy footsteps, rasping breath, and a guttural voice rumbling "S.T.A.R.S.…" He scowled – it was that damn Nemesis again. Jill hadn't been kidding when she told him the thing wouldn't stay dead. He'd known that T-103 Tyrants were hardier than their predecessors and that infection with the parasite gave them regenerative healing, but this was just ridiculous. He'd shot the creature repeatedly point-blank with a powerful weapon right in the head, and its fall from the chapel wall should have shattered its back.

And how had it not forgotten its mission yet? It had already taken heavy damage to have mutated like that, and most Tyrants once they went through a mutation lost what sentience they'd had before and reverted to attacking mindlessly. Well, whatever the reason, the fact still remained that they could not afford to let that Nemesis figure out where they were hiding, not while Jill was incapacitated. Wesker gently lowered her back onto the pew and went to find the Nemesis before it could find them.

While this was going on, the cell phone that Wesker had left sitting next to him on the pew in case Carlos should call suddenly lit up and rang urgently. The loud sound so close to her head roused Jill; she looked around, but there was no Wesker. _What? Shit, where is he?_ She halfway sat up, about to go looking for him no matter if she was in no shape to do so, but then she heard gunfire. He was shooting something – a zombie, she assumed. That didn't make her feel any better, but then common sense caught up: he could take care of himself against a simple zombie, and what good would she do in her condition? Then she remembered that the phone was ringing, and picked it up just before Carlos decided to give up and call back later. "Hello? Carlos?"

The young merc was stunned into silence for a moment, but quickly found his voice again. "Jill, you're awake!" he cried, weak-kneed with relief. "Are you all right?"

"As much as the circumstances allow, I suppose. Anyway, what's going on?" She smiled a little at the tone of his voice; but there must have been some important reason for his call. Since Wesker was busy for the moment, she would have to deal with it.

"Well, I'm getting there, I think. Don't worry, I'll find that antivirus for you! But, where's that Wesker guy? I just, uh, found something…" Carlos uttered something that was half sigh and half growl. "Listen, Nicholai survived somehow. I just saw him shooting a survivor – you were right, Jill. He told me he was a supervisor, but I don't know what that means. Maybe Wesker does, since he said he used to work for Umbrella."

Jill's jaw tightened angrily. "This makes the second time we've seen him killing – I'm sure he's done it more than that. I'll tell Albert and see what he knows. Right now he's not in the room, I think he's fighting off a few zombies that got in here."

Carlos muttered something under his breath. "Dammit, why? Why does Nicholai have to do this?"

"Because Umbrella doesn't want it getting out that they were the cause of this outbreak, I'll bet," Jill told him darkly. "All the more reason for me to hurry up and get the hell out of here."

"I'm doing my best, Jill. Just keep that virus from taking over, and I'll get the cure before you know it."

She smiled wistfully at the determination in his voice. "I believe you. Just be careful – I'd feel bad if you got hurt because of me."

Carlos snorted and was back to his usual bravado. "Oh please, it takes more than a few monsters to bring me down. I'll see you soon, Jill, and I'll have that antivirus with me. You just wait."

Jill ended the call and set the phone aside, and glanced toward the door where battlesounds continued to filter through. Wesker had been fighting for a while; shouldn't he have been able to finish off a few zombies by now? But what if they weren't simple infected? What if – but no, she'd killed the Nemesis. Now everything went quiet, and it did not reassure her.

Her growing anxiety was quelled, though, when Wesker came through the door moments later and saw her sitting up. "Jill, dear heart, you should be asleep," he chided as he came to sit by her side.

"What were you just fighting?" she asked. Now that he was closer she noticed a few flecks of blood in his hair and spattered across his shirt, along with several rips in the dark fabric; the wounds underneath had closed over, but the evidence was still there.

The tyrant grimaced slightly and looked down at his magnum, reloading it as he spoke. "Your old friend Nemesis, who has decided to start stalking me as well." He glanced up at her expression, which was of disbelief. "It seems to have mutated, and I have to wonder how you managed to inflict that much damage to it."

Reflexively, Jill reached up to touch her shoulder where she had been stabbed, but she caught herself just before her touch damaged the dead, graying skin any further. "I thought I killed it…"

Wesker noticed that gesture, but didn't comment on it just yet. "It seems you were wrong. I encountered it as I was coming into this place, but apparently it didn't learn its lesson about me the first time. With any luck I hurt it badly enough this time that it will stay away longer."

Jill shook her head slowly. "But you think it'll keep coming back?"

"Probably." Wesker frowned. That NE-α parasite was a pain; without that, the creature would probably be dead. This Nemesis was beginning to remind him of Lisa Trevor, the experiment that never died. Of course, she had also been given one of the parasites, so it made sense. He glanced down at his own hands broodingly – it had been the parasite given to Lisa Trevor that had given rise to the G-virus project, and to his virus. His body showed the same regenerative abilities. It was rather sobering to see something that was so different from him, yet at the same time so chillingly similar.

Jill nudged him lightly. "Albert?" She looked up into his face, concerned over his somber expression. "What's wrong?"

"Was it the Nemesis that gave you the infection, dear heart?" he asked. Even though that hadn't been what had brought that expression to his features, it was still something to be concerned about, if he was interpreting that absentminded gesture of hers correctly.

She was a little surprised by the sudden subject change. "I think so, yes. It stabbed me with its tentacle, and it felt like the wound hurt more than it should have. Why?"

The tyrant growled under his breath. "Because if that was the case, then it may not be the t-virus that is taking over your body." Jill looked at him in surprise, silently begging an explanation. "What sets that Nemesis apart from other Tyrants is that it has a parasite in its body that is responsible for its increased intelligence and regenerative healing. That parasite also mutates the t-virus in its host's body – what you end up getting is a virus called NE-T and not the normal tyrant virus."

"What does that mean? That the antivirus might not work?" Her voice was sharp, and he didn't blame her in the least.

"That is a possibility. The antivirus was designed to combat the t-virus and nothing else. However, the NE-T produced by that Nemesis is probably very closely related to the normal t-virus, since the parasite was administered to an already t-virus infected Tyrant. There is a chance that it will work just as well."

Jill gave him a look that bordered on suspicion. "Don't give me white lies and half-truths just to make me feel better, Albert. If this cure probably isn't going to work, I want to know. Tell me the whole truth and don't try to protect me."

Wesker returned her gaze solemnly. "I honestly don't know whether or not the antivirus will work on NE-T; I don't know very much about the Nemesis project because that was the purview of a different lab. I'm only guessing that the infection is from the Nemesis and even _is_ NE-T. But if it was that wound from the Nemesis that gave you the infection, chances are it's NE-T." He paused for a moment, considering, and decided to divulge everything else he'd been withholding. "And if you want the bald truth, at least the way I see it, then the antivirus may not even _be_ here. It exists, but to my knowledge it was not made by any of the Umbrella researchers working in the hospital. The information I have to that effect is outdated by several years, please note, so that project may well have been moved into the city. Even if it was not, the reasoning I gave Carlos is that the antivirus – or at least its components – could have been brought to the hospital to protect its workers when the outbreak started."

Jill was staring at her hands, which were clenched in her lap. Earlier, she had been hopeful, thinking that with the Nemesis dead and with Carlos going to get the antivirus, everything was going to be fine. The cure would be found and with Wesker there to help, she and Carlos would be able to get out of the outbreak, and all would be well with the world. Of course it wasn't that simple. It was never that simple. "So I'm going to die," she muttered, her voice and expression impassive despite the churning mix of despair, resignation and horror in her heart.

A firm, warm hand cupped her chin and pulled it up so she was forced to look into Wesker's blood-colored eyes. "Don't say that, Jill. If you give up, then you will guarantee your death. Is that what you want, to make my efforts and Carlos' worth nothing? Do we mean so little to you?"

Jill pulled her chin out of the tyrant's grasp and sat up straighter, bristling slightly at the accusation in his voice. "Of course not! You mean the world to me, Albert, and Carlos is my friend."

"Really, now? That's hard to believe when you act like everything we're doing is worthless," he retorted. "Should I really have bothered to risk discovery coming all the way out here, then, if you're ready to give up so quickly?"

"I'm not giving up!" Jill snapped. "Excuse me for feeling a little depressed hearing that the odds seem to be stacked against my survival!"

The look Wesker gave her then was too somber to be an _I told you so_ look, but barely. "You did ask me to tell you the blunt truth, dear heart."

"I did." She calmed her temper with an effort. "I wish you hadn't kept that from me for so long, though."

Wesker softened his expression and curled one hand under her chin again. "There was no reason to add unnecessary stress to your conscience then, dear heart. When I realized the possibility that you got NE-T it seemed like as good a time as any to let the other shoe drop, so you won't be disappointed if worst should come to worst."

Jill sighed; she couldn't stay mad at him when he put it that way. "Fine. But I never said I was giving up," she added, determined to get the final word.

"I know. Giving up just isn't in you, and I'm well aware of that. I just can't stand to see you so sad," he replied wryly.

For a moment she was slightly confused by that, but then it hit her; what she had seen as unwarranted accusations was meant to goad her out of depression and to make her _remember_ that it went against her every instinct to just lay down and let death come. Jill glared at him with no anger in her eyes whatsoever, and the tyrant leaned forward to kiss her. "You know me way too well," she muttered.

It was only a few hours after that when another call from Carlos came in. Jill had dozed back off not long after that conversation, so Wesker shook her gently awake, and he put the call on speaker so she could participate. The news was good.

"I've got it!" Carlos crowed triumphantly. "I just hope we don't end up needing anything else from that hospital, 'cos it just got blown sky high. I think it singed the back of my shirt, but I got out okay. How is Jill?"

"Jill is incredibly relieved," Jill remarked, shaking her head. "I owe you big time, Carlos."

"Hah, I'm just returning the favor. I'll be there before you know it! Oh, did Jill tell you about Nicholai, Wesker?"

"No," the tyrant rumbled, looking sidelong at Jill. "What about Nicholai?"

"You distracted me," Jill protested. It was true enough, so Wesker dropped it.

"Uh, well, long story short is that he was the Sergeant of our platoon, but he double-crossed us. Our mission was supposed to be to rescue any survivors, but he's going around killing them off. We thought we'd left him behind with the cable car but I saw him not too long ago. He told me he's something called a supervisor – do you have any idea what that means? 'Cuz I sure don't."

Wesker frowned in thought. "I never had much to do with the Countermeasure Service, so no. But I'm not at all surprised by what he's doing – that was the entire reason the U.B.C.S. was sent in, I'll wager. One thing I can tell you – the next time you see him, it would be prudent to kill him, before he kills you. Chances are if he gets out of the outbreak alive he'll make your life difficult, Carlos." He didn't bother to mention Jill, because she was already a target; this would probably just make it worse.

"Got it. I'll be there soon." Carlos hung up, and Jill sighed.

"One worry down, at least," she remarked. "Now, will it work?"

Wesker pulled her closer against his side encouragingly. "It'll have to, won't it?"

Carlos arrived minutes later and handed off the syringe of antivirus; to the young merc, it looked like he'd completed his mission just in time. The patches of dying skin on Jill's body had grown considerably; the one on her shoulder had spread up the base of her neck, onto her back and upper arm, and even further down. The others hadn't grown quite as much, but new places started to behave similarly. Wesker had been applying first-aid spray to the affected areas, but that hadn't done much to stall it, and it did nothing against the virus itself. She reported that her heart was still palpitating unevenly, and she felt short of breath and fatigued. Looking at her eyes one might have been led to believe that cataracts were forming there, for the cornea was becoming cloudy and opaque.

Wesker gingerly inserted the needle into a place on Jill's upper arm that wasn't covered in dying skin, though she didn't feel a thing. In fact, she felt like her whole body was falling asleep; that worried her the most. "There. Now only time will tell." Wesker put the empty syringe aside. "In a few hours we should start seeing signs of improvement, if it turns out this works."

"How long until she's completely better?" Carlos asked, watching his friend anxiously. He had been informed of the possibility that it was an NE-T infection, so was especially antsy. Jill smiled slightly at his obvious concern.

"About a day, I think, maybe longer. The infection is well entrenched and her body is weak from fighting it, so of course it's going to take a while." Carlos looked dismayed, but Jill didn't care how long it took, as long as it worked. "Until then, all we can do is wait and watch."

That wasn't something Carlos did well. He was a high-energy person by nature – this game of waiting wore on his nerves. Wesker noticed that right off the bat and suggested that he look around to see if he could find something edible; the U.B.C.S. hadn't been given provisions, and Wesker only had a few MRE tins. While those were rich in energy, they weren't exactly the best thing for convalescents. The young merc was glad to have something constructive to do, and happily trotted off into another part of the chapel in search of food.

"He reminds me of a puppy sometimes," Jill observed wryly. "I wonder how a guy like him ended up working for Umbrella."

The tyrant snorted softly. "Remember that most people don't know about Umbrella's darker side. Besides, mercenaries don't usually have much in common with their employers, and they're often even more poorly informed than the full-time employees, unless they're being paid extra to perform services like your friend Nicholai is doing."

Jill snorted distastefully at the evocation of that traitor's name and cuddled closer to Wesker in preparation for another nap. He let her get comfortable and settled back himself, but that relaxation didn't last for very long. With a wince, the tyrant reached into his belt pouch; the shifting of her pillow's weight stirred Jill. She opened her eyes, wondering what he was doing, and was perplexed to see a syringe in his hand. The antivirus? But no, this one was full, and the liquid inside was purplish in color. "What is that?"

He sighed heavily, but held his silence for a moment longer; inverting the syringe in his right hand, Wesker slid the needle into his forearm and emptied the serum into his bloodstream. "This is what's been keeping me alive," he answered at length, before negligently dropping the empty syringe. It didn't matter much in an outbreak zone about the proper disposal of used needles.

"What?" Jill sat up straighter so she could look him in the eyes; he looked resigned more than anything. "Wh – Albert, you never said anything about this before!" She put one hand against the side of his face so he couldn't look away.

"I didn't want to worry you over nothing, dear heart, and the problem was resolved before it became severe." She didn't look convinced. "There's no need to look at me like that, Jill – I'm fine. If it hadn't been under control by now I wouldn't have left the lab." He gently pulled her hand from his face and cupped it in both of his.

Jill shook her head with a heavy sigh. "You'd better tell me just what the problem was, Albert. If it's under control then there's no harm in telling me, right?" The man was going to make her go gray before her time, she was sure of it.

"The problem was that I recently had an experimental virus take over my body," he began in his most ironic tone. "In many ways this virus makes me one of the most successful tyrants Umbrella has ever spawned, since I've gained superhuman strength, senses and regenerative healing while also retaining higher thought and reasoning abilities; the only drawback lies in the fact that since this virus was only a stepping-stone to get a final product – the Gene virus – it was never refined to the point that it could be useful to make B.O.W.."

"You are avoiding the question," Jill pointed out.

Wesker lifted and dropped one shoulder noncommittally. "The virus is so unstable even in hosts with compatible DNA that in a matter of weeks it amplifies to the point that its host's body cannot support life. I don't know whether the destabilization causes mutations like those seen in other Progenitor-based viruses or if it just starts to look like a case of something like Ebola – thankfully I haven't gotten to that stage yet. Something makes me think that past that point of no return death is inevitable, and rather ugly."

Jill had one hand covering her face, and didn't say anything for some time. "So you're telling me that just a few weeks after you left, your virus started killing you?"

"In a nutshell, yes."

"Albert, you are going to be the death of me," Jill sighed heavily. Wesker chuckled lightly and lifted her chin with one hand so that their eyes met.

"But as you can see, it didn't kill me. That serum you just saw me inject stabilizes the virus' rate of replication and keeps it from turning my cells into solid bricks of crystallized virus." Which would not be pretty. This virus, as primitive as it was, had several similarities with more mundane – but still deadly – filoviruses like Ebola or Marburg – the main one being how it killed its victims. "Give me some credit, dear heart – I do know how to take care of myself."

"Do you, now? Why am I not so sure? Is there anything _else_ that could go catastrophically wrong?" Jill shook her head. "You're just full of unpleasant surprises today."

"As long as I don't get too much of the serum at once, nothing is likely to go catastrophically wrong."

"So an overdose is bad?" Of course. Life couldn't be that easy.

"It wouldn't kill me, but it is _very_ unpleasant and I'd rather not have to deal with those symptoms." That wasn't entirely true – he didn't know for a fact, but he suspected that too large of an overdose, or at the very least an overdose when he was already unstable, could be fatal.

Jill sighed wearily and rested her head against his chest, while his arms encircled her shoulders. "Oy. Well, at least you've figured out a way to keep yourself alive. I can't blame you for what you can't control – but I can still worry."

"Everything is under control, dear heart – there's no need for you to worry," Wesker murmured into her hair. Soon, despite her lingering concerns, she relaxed into his embrace and slipped into sleep. She was just so _tired_ – her energy reserves had been drained, fighting off this virus. And now that waiting was all they could do for the moment, it didn't make much sense to sit there and brood over what could be. That would just add more stress that she didn't need to deal with right now.

Soon, Carlos returned. The image that greeted him brought a smile to the young merc's features: Jill was sound asleep, cradled in Wesker's lap with her back against his chest and her face tucked under his chin, while the apparently dozing tyrant was propped half-upright against the back and one arm of the pew with both of his arms loosely wrapped around Jill's waist. The U.B.C.S. merc put his meager findings nearby where the other two would see them on waking and collected his rifle in order to go on a brief patrol around the chapel. They looked so peaceful that he didn't want to disturb them. As Carlos passed by on his way out, Wesker opened his eyes. "Thank you."

Carlos paused. "For what?"

"For taking care of Jill. Both of you were lucky to meet up, and wise to join forces."

Smiling, Carlos chuckled lightly. "Yeah, I guess so. She's a lot tougher that I'd thought when I first met her – I'd thought she was just another civilian, but I was way wrong there."

Wesker snorted in wry agreement. Carlos continued on his way, leaving Wesker to slip back into a light doze still with Jill sleeping soundly in his arms. The quick patrol yielded nothing out of the ordinary, so Carlos returned quietly and arranged himself on another pew across the aisle to get some sleep himself – by now he was feeling the full effect of his quest to find the antivirus, and so was exhausted now that he'd worked off the rest of the energy adrenaline had lent his body. All they could do was wait and see.

* * *

**Okay, enough of that. These came kinda slowly compared to the others, but unfortunately I do have homework and **_**exams**_** that I kinda have to deal with. College comes first and Melpomene has my spare time, of which there is less that she likes. Oh well.**

**And yes, I know they call it a vaccine in the game, but I'm pretty sure it was a translation error. Vaccinations are given to prevent an infection, not to cure one. Pedantic of me but oh well.**


	8. Up In Flames

**So yeah, I'm just working on chapters for each of my three WIPs as my Muse sees fit, since the original plan of alternating seems not to be working as well. After this one I think she'll go for **_**Duality**_**, since I've been neglecting that one in favor of these other two. That's the farthest down on my list of priorities, but that doesn't mean I'll completely ignore it until the others are done.**

**You peeps might have noticed the note I left on my profile, but if you didn't, I feel the need to apologize for this slump. November is hellmonth in terms of the work profs give us, and that leads right into finals, which are an ordeal in and of themselves. So for most of the past month and a half I've been having to focus more on academics, which burns out my energy and my Muse. However, we have the better part of December off for Christmas, so that will hopefully give me time to recuperate and get back into my writing groove before the next semester starts.**

**And since I've been going so slowly, I decided to go ahead and post what I have for this book of **_**What If**_** before I have the whole section finished – I've been trying not to do that so I can post it all in one go, but I don't want you peeps to think I've forgotten about you. So that's why this is up, even though there's still a few more chapters left before I go into the way more involved crap before/during/after RE5.**

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A soft groan slipped past Jill's lips, parted in a grimace, as she shifted restlessly in Wesker's arms. She had been peacefully asleep for several hours, but now her slumber was fitful from discomfort. Wesker has roused with her first twitch and checked her over quickly to see what was wrong. When he put a hand against her brow, the skin there was the same temperature as his own; her heart rate was fast, but steady and strong; a dry cough had lodged in her chest; and from the way she was shifting uneasily, her body ached. Jill shivered as the fever pulled heat from the rest of her into her head, and the tyrant cradled her closer to his own body's warmth.

He had expected this reaction – it was an encouraging sign, since it meant that her body was actively fighting against the infection. One of the things that made the t-virus so insidious was that when infected cells were confronted with the leukocytes, the virus would attack those white blood cells, and essentially cripple the body's normal immune response. So the fact that Jill had a fever and showing all these other symptoms meant that the antivirus was doing its job of weakening the virus so that her body could more effectively combat the infection. Her fever was running rather high – much higher and it would be near fatal – but that was only to be expected. As long as it didn't go much higher Wesker wasn't much inclined to do anything about it, since that fever was keeping the virus at bay.

"S.T.A.R.S...." Wesker heard faintly, and growled a colorful string of profanity under his breath. That damn Nemesis was beginning to piss him off. He gingerly slid out from under Jill and folded his jacket into a pillow for her, then went to shake Carlos awake. He'd noticed the merc snoring gently a while earlier, but hadn't bothered to wake him. Both humans needed sleep more than he did – he'd always been a light sleeper, but since becoming a tyrant the slightest disturbance would jolt him into awareness.

"Hnn… uhn, wha?" Carlos slurred, jerking half-upright and looking around blearily. "Whassup?"

"I need you to keep an eye on Jill. Make sure her fever doesn't get any worse. It's at thirty-nine degrees now – much higher and her body will begin to shut down. I'll be right back after I take care of a pest," Wesker explained.

"Thirty-nine Celsius? What is that in Fahrenheit? Over a hundred?" Carlos asked, now fully alert as he shot a worried glance at Jill's sleeping form.

"One-oh-three."

The merc looked at him indignantly. "Why haven't you done anything about it yet? A fever that high is really bad, right? She didn't have a fever before!"

Wesker could hear the Nemesis drawing closer and sighed with impatience. "She didn't have a fever before because the virus was suppressing her immune system. That was bad. In this case a fever is good because it means the antivirus is working and her body is fighting back. It won't be dangerous until it hits forty degrees – forty-two is fatal, at least to humans. Go find ice and make up a pack, but don't apply it unless the fever gets worse." Carlos still looked a little dubious. "It may be uncomfortable for her to endure, but better some discomfort now than letting the virus take over her body. Just let her symptoms run their course and do what they were designed to do." With that, he turned and went to seek out the Nemesis, which was drawing too close for Wesker's comfort to their temporary sanctuary.

When he found it, the creature was indeed too close. So instead of going on the offensive right off the bat, the tyrant dodged around it and ran to lure the behemoth away from Carlos and Jill. The Nemesis hesitated for a moment, torn between the immediate prey and the sitting target it could sense nearby, but a bullet tearing through one tentacle decided it. The hulking beast rasped an angry growl and lurched off after Wesker. It was still fast, despite the damage it had sustained its last few encounters, but nowhere close to matching the speed its opponent could call up. Times like this, when he was pitted against a powerful B.O.W. like the Nemesis and still had a clear advantage made being infected worth it to Wesker. Sure, the two tyrants were evenly matched in terms of strength, but he was faster, more agile, and far smarter than this behemoth. The only other thing this creature had going for it was sheer staying power: it was a juggernaut, barely able to feel pain and completely fixated on its objective. Though its intelligence was enhanced compared to other T-103 model Tyrants, there still wasn't much room in its malformed skull for strategy or creativity.

Wesker skipped and darted to and fro, weaving through the Nemesis' attacks with ease, all the time leading the beast further away from Jill and closer to the exit. If his only goal had been to just avoid being killed and escaping the creature, it wouldn't be a challenge; but once he got the thing out into the open, he was going to try and kill it, and that was easier said than done. It looked like this creature could heal itself like he could, which would make destroying it thoroughly enough that it stayed dead a monumental task. As long as the infected cells remained living and relatively intact, they could and would regenerate lost body parts. It wouldn't suffer from the loss of any major limb – including its head, unfortunately – or a significant portion of its torso. However, if the body was reduced to small enough sections or if it was continually damaged, eventually the cells would run out of resources to rebuild, and it would die. However, that would take something extreme. _Too bad there isn't a volcano handy, or I could throw it in. _Then_ it would stay dead,_ Wesker thought ironically.

Finally he lured it out of the chapel and into the open. By now the Nemesis was nearly berserk with frustration and attacking more like any other Tyrant would, and Wesker continued to evade its attacks without offering anything in return. Obviously he wasn't going to be able to wear it down like this – the creature never seemed to run out of energy. But he could make it so angry that it stopped just lashing about with its tentacles and closed in. It had evidently learned from its last two encounters with him that he couldn't do much damage except with his gun from a distance, so it was avoiding getting close if it could; but soon it threw caution to the wind in its rage and went at him bare-handed. Perfect.

Wesker stood his ground and let it get dangerously close, until he could smell its reeking breath, then made his move. He ducked under its fisted hands and shoved his magnum into its mouth, which it had opened to unleash a guttural bellow, and fired directly into its brain. The Nemesis went limp and nearly crushed Wesker under its bulk, if he hadn't sidestepped out of the way in time. Then, coolly, he unloaded several more shots into its head until there wasn't much left but a bloody pulp.

By now, the adrenaline racing through his veins and the slaughterhouse smells of blood and half-rotten flesh permeating the air were making it very difficult for Wesker to keep his cool. Instinct urged him to forget the damn gun and tear into the enemy the old-fashioned way. It would be so much more satisfying to dismember this pathetic beast with his bare hands. The scents of combat and death swam temptingly through his brain, deviously whittling away at his self control – if he could only sink his teeth into the thing, let the salt-sweet meat and blood slide down his throat; surely it would not last long being devoured alive. And then he could watch it twitch and struggle uselessly against his superior strength and squirm the last of its life force away. _Then_ the sorry excuse for a living being wouldn't be able to come back for more. _Ridiculous creature, it can barely think for itself, much less defend against something like me. It doesn't deserve to exist. If I apply the right amount of pressure _there_ it wouldn't be able to move for a while, and I could deal with it at my leisure._ Images of what he could do to deconstruct the creature flashed through his mind's eye, eliciting a thrill of excitement through his viral body; saliva welled up in his mouth, his blood pressure went up, all his senses sharpened. That eagerness even began to pool between his legs, and that was when Wesker came to his senses.

Shaking his head violently, Wesker stepped back from the carnage, gritting his teeth as he willed away the bloodlust. Revulsion and disgust quickly dampened his body's reaction and allowed him to impose control once more. He hated this part of being infected – most any strong negative emotion would trigger an episode of senseless, visceral aggression and sadism that left him straining to control the urge to tear into the nearest living thing with bared teeth. Especially when it was coupled with the sight, smell, or feel of spilt blood or torn flesh, it was dismayingly easy to set his viral instincts off. An adrenaline rush just made things even worse. He hoped fervently that it would get easier to control as time went on, but since he was still new to life as a tyrant, he usually tried to avoid situations that would elicit an episode like this. And since the Nemesis didn't seem to be moving, even though he had been standing there for several minutes trying to get himself back under control, Wesker deemed it wise to head back. He walked slowly so that, by the time he made it back to Jill and Carlos, he was back to normal.

When he arrived, he found Carlos – as expected – hovering over Jill, holding a paper towel-wrapped plastic Ziploc bag filled with ice to her brow. The young merc glanced up at Wesker, noted that a new layer of dark blood was flecked across his outfit and that he'd garnered a few extra rips in his clothing, and quirked an eyebrow in concern. "Where did that come from? I haven't heard any infected come around since my last patrol. Are you okay?"

The tyrant snorted scathingly. "I'm fine – I was just taking care of an annoyance." He passed by Carlos on the way to the small bathroom nearby so he could wash off the blood that had gotten on his face. There wasn't much he could do about the flecks that had soaked into the fabric of his clothes, but he wanted to try and get as much of the gore off as he could. The backlash from his bloodlust episode was nausea souring in the pit of his stomach in response to the stimuli that had set him off in the first place – though this reaction was the product of the part of him that remained rational and essentially unchanged from humanity.

Once he'd rinsed off as much as he could, Wesker reentered the room and went over to Jill. Carlos had removed the ice pack from her brow so Wesker could look her over and stood by anxiously. The tyrant laid a hand against her brow and sucked in a faint gasp. "Get more ice," he snapped. "Make up at least three more packs. Quickly." Carlos nodded and scampered off to do as he was bid, and Wesker gingerly picked Jill up and transferred her to a nearby table that provided more room than the pew. Her fever had gone up and was too high for comfort. When Carlos got back juggling three more ice packs, Wesker directed him to tuck one under each arm and the third between her legs. "Blood runs close to the surface at those points so having ice packs there will help cool her down," he explained to the perplexed merc.

"Is she gonna be all right?" Carlos inquired nervously.

"As long as her fever doesn't stay this high for much longer, she'll pull through. If it gets much higher we're in trouble." The tyrant stood next to the table and watched Jill's expression contort in discomfort. He gripped the edge of the table fiercely in frustration. He and Carlos were practically useless – there was nothing they could do in their situation other than apply ice and hope. It was all up to Jill to fight off this infection, and from the looks of it she was fighting a losing battle. "Go back to sleep, Carlos. We can't do much of anything at the moment. As you pointed out, the hospital has been destroyed, and if we move her we run too much of a risk of encountering the Nemesis. I can fight it off, but not with an invalid in tow." Carlos could hear the tension underneath Wesker's otherwise calm tone, so even though he didn't particularly want to leave Jill's side, neither did he want to get on the tyrant's bad side. By now he'd decided to trust Wesker; at least, trust that he would take care of Jill. So the young merc obediently went back to the pew he'd inhabited before, but he didn't quite doze off.

Stubborn to the end, Wesker didn't leave Jill's side until she began to show signs of improvement some time later. Carlos, while drifting in and out of a doze, had almost offered to take his place, but one look at the tyrant's expression told him to keep his mouth shut. Finally, as September's last day was drawing to a close, the fever broke. Earlier that night the sky had opened up so that a deluge of water pelted the fire-scorched ground, and it was to the pattering of rain on the chapel roof that Jill awoke. She groaned faintly as she stirred.

Immediately, she felt a warm hand cup her cheek and even warmer breath wash over the side of her face as Wesker leaned down to murmur into her ear. "You gave us a scare there, dear heart. Are you feeling any better?"

She opened her eyes to see Wesker hovering over her, with Carlos looking over his shoulder eagerly. Jill had to smile wanly at the young merc's expression. "Every muscle in my body feels like Jell-O, but otherwise I'm fine. What time is it?" She tried to sit up and ended up leaning against Wesker's chest with barely enough strength to grasp fistfuls of his shirt in her hands.

"Half past eleven o'clock," Carlos reported after a glance at his watch.

Wesker smiled slightly in relief and pressed his lips to her brow. Jill sighed and leaned further into him as her eyes slid closed. "So, is the virus gone?" she inquired curiously. She felt immensely better besides being so weak, but she was still worried about a relapse.

Wesker gently picked her up and transferred Jill back onto the pew, which was probably more comfortable than the table. "The symptoms of infection are all gone, so it's probably a fair assumption to say that the virus has been eradicated. There might be traces of it lingering in your bloodstream for a while, but your immune system should be able to handle what little there is left, and the last will be gone within a few weeks." He sat down and Jill shuffled closer so that her head was in his lap again. "All in all, you should be fine." He didn't bother to mention how remarkably fast her recovery had been, considering how far the infection had gotten before the antivirus was applied. Nor how close she had come to death.

The relief exuded by both Carlos and Jill was nearly palpable. The ex-U.B.C.S. merc fetched a glass of water and some bread that he'd found somewhere in the chapel and brought them over to Jill. Wesker pulled her up so she was braced against his chest and accepted Carlos' offerings. Jill smiled to herself – she had the two men essentially waiting on her. It would have been comical had she not recently been on death's doorstep. She really wasn't hungry, but Wesker ignored her protests and made her eat some of the bread. "If you expect to be up and about anytime soon, you need to replenish some of the energy your body used to fight off the virus," he scolded. "And once you finish this you need to sleep. All of us do, actually."

Jill snickered privately. "Yes, mother."

Carlos sputtered on the swig of water he'd taken and Wesker rolled his eyes. "You're definitely feeling better if you have enough energy for sarcasm," he observed ironically.

Sarcasm was about all she had energy for, though, for no sooner had she shifted into a more comfortable position in Wesker's arms did she fall into slumber. Carlos' carefree manner dropped as soon as she was asleep. "Will she really make a full recovery?" he asked Wesker in concern.

"If all goes well, she should. We need to get her and ourselves out of the city, though, because if she wears herself down too far she could relapse. When we do move out of this chapel, I'll be traveling with her. I trust you can take care of yourself?" He raised an eyebrow at the younger man.

Carlos' cocky grin resurfaced. "Of course I can. I've made it this far, haven't I?" Wesker snorted. "All right, so there's been setbacks. But I'm still fit to fight and I think I can get us a helicopter outta here as long as I can find a working radio. How about you and Jill look for a way out on foot and I'll work on an airlift? Whoever's way works first can call in the other and we get the hell out."

"Sounds like a good idea to me. I'll see if Jill will lend you her cell phone again so we can keep in touch. I doubt she'll object," Wesker replied with a nod. He decided that he liked this Carlos fellow – he may've been a typical twenties-something male with the cockiness, but he was showing that he also had a decent grasp on strategy and was sensible enough.

After that, both Carlos and Wesker followed Jill's example and caught a few winks of sleep while they could. A scant few hours passed and Jill was the first to wake up, feeling far more like herself than she had before. She was also far hungrier than she had been, so she hunted up one of the MREs that Wesker had left out and shamelessly took advantage of it. She heard a chuckle behind her and turned to see Wesker watching her with a tiny smile on his lips.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as Jill came to sit back down next to him.

"Much better, actually," she said, and smiled gratefully at him. "Albert?"

"Hm?"

Jill leaned into his side. "Thank you. It was a bad idea to get yourself mixed up in all this, but I'm glad you did. I probably wouldn't have made it if not for you."

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. "No need to thank me, dear heart. You would do the same for me. And I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I'd stayed behind and lost you," he murmured, burying his face in her hair.

Behind them, Carlos had woken up and was grinning to himself at the tender moment. Wesker suddenly tilted his head to fix one eye on the young merc, who immediately dropped the grin and looked away sheepishly. Jill noticed the exchange and lightly elbowed Wesker in the ribs as she got up. "All right, guys, we've wasted enough time. I'm feeling well enough to move on and we still need to get the hell out of here."

Carlos had already gotten up and was busying himself checking the ammo for his rifle. "Sounds like a good idea to me."

Wesker picked Jill's cell phone off the floor. "Do you mind if Carlos carries your phone? I'll be with you, of course, and we need to keep in touch in case something goes wrong on either end," he said, hefting the device in his hand idly.

"Not at all. Be careful, Carlos," she warned the young merc as he stepped forward to take the phone.

"Please, Jill, I've got this," he assured her with a confident grin. "Remember who risked life and limb to get that antivirus and returned without a scratch on him."

"I wonder where those rips in your uniform came from, then," Wesker observed wryly. Carlos blustered and the tyrant rolled his eyes. "First-aid spray is handy but it doesn't work on fabric."

Between Wesker deflating Carlos' ego and Jill being pestered by inquiries into whether she really felt up to moving out so soon, they split up soon after that. Carlos promptly disappeared, while Jill and Wesker headed toward the park. She found it much easier to make headway with him around; between his powerful magnum made all the more effective by his enhanced reaction time and the advantages he had in hand-to-hand combat, Jill actually didn't have to do much work. It would have irritated her if she had been at her usual level of competency. But, since she was still a little sub-par from the infection, she was wise enough to let Wesker take the lead and conserve her own ammo and energy. Besides, this gave her a perfect chance to admire her lover in action. She wasn't put off in the least by his viral improvements. He seemed to have adjusted well to it, for he fought seamlessly, as if he'd had these abilities his whole life.

The Nemesis did pop back up again, looking a little worse for wear after its last defeat at Wesker's hands. Jill sucked in a gasp and recoiled a little at the sight of the beast. "Good God… look at it," she breathed.

Wesker fired several rounds into its head and wrapped an arm around Jill's waist to pull her along. "It's gruesome, yes, but standing there staring won't make it die any faster," he hissed. Jill snapped out of her horrified reverie and put her shotgun to use. They didn't bother standing around trying to shoot it down, and instead kept its head down with gunfire as they retreated. Wesker had quickly figured out that it would waste far too much ammunition to kill it the way they had been trying to. They needed a better weapon.

She and Wesker unexpectedly ran into Nicholai soon after that – the merc was surprised to see the new face, especially when that new addition moved inhumanly fast to press a magnum against his brow. "You must be the Nicholai character I've heard so much about," Wesker remarked coldly. "You have two choices, Nicholai. Tell me what you're up to, or find your brain splattered across the wall." Jill looked on grimly. Normally she wouldn't have condoned that sort of thing, but as far as she was concerned, Nicholai deserved it.

The Russian narrowed his eyes angrily and glared at Wesker. "Go ahead and shoot me, then you won't get any information."

The tyrant's lip curled in disdain. "Defiant, I see. Jill, I suggest you leave the room," he said over his shoulder.

"Why?" she asked warily.

"You might not want to see this," he warned darkly. Nicholai scoffed at Wesker's tone and made as if to spit in the tyrant's face, but Wesker gripped the merc's jaw savagely in his free hand. "You do that and I promise, you will regret it," he hissed, tilting his head to glare over the tops of his sunglasses.

Jill hesitated. She didn't like the new edge to Wesker's voice, not at all. It was very much like how he'd sounded in the forest the first time his control had snapped and he was about to strangle Chris. "Jill, go," Wesker commanded. "I'll be there shortly."

She left the room – still wary, but telling herself that for what he'd done, Nicholai didn't deserve the gentle treatment. She had an idea of what Wesker planned to do in order to make Nicholai talk. The main reason she didn't object was the half-feral look in his eyes; that expression didn't bode well. She may have been used to seeing him as a tyrant, but she still wasn't comfortable around him when his control was shaky.

She stood in the next room and listened hard, but heard only muffled sounds. No obvious cries of pain… then suddenly, a gunshot that was so loud compared to the other noises that she jumped. Wesker emerged moments later with his usual expression of neutrality. Jill looked at him expectantly.

"Long story short, we have until dawn to get out, or else we'll be caught up in the explosion when a missile is launched into the city." Jill gaped at him, aghast.

"They're going to destroy the city?" she demanded.

"Exactly. The infection has spread so far and fast that it will take drastic action to contain it – and it's to help cover up Umbrella's mistake," he explained, lifting his lip slightly again. "You were right about Nicholai, by the way. His purpose was to gather battle data on the infected and to silence the survivors." They both exchanged a disgusted look, and promptly moved on.

Otherwise, things went fairly well. They had a scare when the cemetery ground crumbled out from under them thanks to a gigantic, mutated earth worm that had grown _teeth_, but they survived that ordeal. As they clambered out of the pit, Jill sagged against Wesker with a grimace, panting for breath. Her energy reserves were seriously drained, but they had no time to pause for rest. The tyrant kept an arm around her waist to help her along until the wave of weakness passed.

They made their way toward where Wesker knew was the Incinerator Facility. The Nemesis was still on their trail and if there was anywhere in the city that could possibly facilitate killing the thing, it was the Dead Factory. On the way there, they got a call from Carlos. The young merc sounded shaken as he told them what they already knew – that they had mere hours to get out or be destroyed with the rest of Raccoon. Wesker told him an abbreviated version of their encounter with Nicholai – leaving out the brief interrogation session – and then hung up with a grim expression. "Well, now we know our Russian friend wasn't lying to me," he remarked.

They approached the facility and Jill paused in confusion. "The abandoned factory?"

"An Umbrella facility in disguise," he corrected. "We call it the Dead Factory. Its purpose is to process the organic waste and the rejected experiments from the B.O.W. development labs in the area."

Jill eyed the edifice grimly. "Umbrella is everywhere…"

Wesker led her through the plant. He actually knew his way around the facility, having accompanied several shipments of leftovers from his own work here to make sure the viral material was properly disposed of. He knew just how vital the Incinerator Facility was to Umbrella's operations, and when he first became aware of an outbreak in the area, his thoughts had immediately turned to this hidden building. As they made their way into it and encountered a number of infected, he quickly realized what had happened. It was as he'd expected – the influx of material proved too much for the system to process all at once, and the whole thing went down. And here was probably one of the reasons the infection had spread so quickly through the city – the factory was inside the park, sitting far too close to the city's water supply.

Jill, as she trotted along beside Wesker, became more and more grateful for her lover's presence. He knew how to operate the machinery in here and he knew where to go – it would have taken her far too long to figure out what to do. "Why are we in here, anyway? I thought we were trying to get out of the city," she commented.

"Carlos is working on getting a helicopter. If we can we're supposed to look for a way out on foot, but as you pointed out to me earlier, that's easier said than done," Wesker explained. "And that Nemesis is still after us; until we destroy it it's not going to stop harassing us. I'd rather get it out of the way before we go around looking for an exit."

Jill accepted that as sensible, and they continued touring through the facility in search of something to help them kill that damn Nemesis. Soon enough, the creature tracked them down again, and caught up with them in the disposal chamber. Wesker stood between Jill and the Nemesis and eyed the behemoth warily. Jill could practically see him planning, and her spirits lifted when she saw a little smirk tug at the corners of his mouth. The tyrant unholstered his magnum and passed it to Jill. "Take this and keep Nemesis busy for a few moments, dear heart. Watch my back." He turned to the nearest computer console and began typing in a command. Jill stood nearly back-to-back with him to fire. She was glad to finally be of use, though she did wonder what Wesker was planning. Suddenly, the lights scattered around the walls flared into life and flashed red, while a recorded voice droned out a warning. Jill's eyes widened. "What did you do?" she demanded as Wesker turned back around.

"In about four minutes the contents of this room will be dumped into the dissolving pool. We have that long to incapacitate the Nemesis and get out of here, then the facility's biohazard neutralization system will do the rest for us," he explained, still wearing that smirk. Jill continued to give him an incredulous look from the corner of her eye, while most of her concentration remained on the Nemesis. But Wesker didn't give her a chance to comment, for he charged right into action and engaged the Nemesis hand-to-hand.

Having run out of bullets, Jill had put away the borrowed magnum. "Keep shooting, Jill – I can't do this by myself!" Wesker chided over his shoulder. "Don't worry about hitting me. I can dodge." Still she hesitated, as he was picked up by one of the Nemesis' tentacles and thrown against the wall. He gently but firmly pushed her away when she tried to help him up. "Don't worry about me, Jill. If you don't want to shoot at the Nemesis for fear of hitting me, then do me a favor and shoot the handles off those pumps on the wall there." He pointed to the row of several pipes running up the far wall. "If I remember correctly those should have some amount of the solution they use to dissolve contaminated matter in them." Jill saw what he meant to do and obligingly knocked off the handles.

"Watch out!" Wesker called as he skipped aside to avoid a lashing tentacle. The tentacle wrapped around Jill's ankles and pulled her to the ground. At the same moment, the Nemesis staggered as Wesker dealt it a savage kick that sent it crashing into the wall and one of the damaged pipes. Some foul-smelling, caustic liquid sprayed from the pipe and onto the Nemesis. Some of it dripped onto Jill, who wasn't quite quick enough to scramble out of the way. She let out an involuntary shriek as acid splattered onto her leg – her head spun from pain and disorientation as Wesker came immediately to her side and pulled her out of the way. While the Nemesis gurgled and writhed on the other side of the room, Wesker pulled a can of first-aid spray from a belt pouch and sprayed it over Jill's injured leg. She hissed through clenched teeth at the healing ache, but it was nothing compared to the burn of the acid, and the pain was gone within moments anyway.

Wesker helped her stand up. "Better?" he asked curtly. She nodded. The tyrant promptly turned on his heel and launched another attack on the Nemesis.

After that Jill got over her hesitation and opened fire on the Nemesis with her shotgun whenever she saw an opening. Wesker noticed that and did everything he could to maneuver the behemoth into positions where Jill could shoot freely and do more damage to it, while keeping himself out of her line of fire. Pretty soon they had a pattern going that had the Nemesis down more quickly than Jill thought possible. But she didn't have time to stand there and gloat over the unmoving hunk of mutated flesh, for Wesker wrapped an arm around her and pulled her from the room. They had mere seconds to spare. As soon as they were on the other side of the door, Jill gave a deep sigh of relief and sagged against his side.

"Do you think it'll stay down this time?" she asked.

"The system was designed to break down virally-enhanced bodies and to denature the viruses themselves, so if it doesn't I will be shocked," Wesker answered with confidence. Just then, a muffled ringing resonated from the pocked of his coat.

"I've got the chopper!" Carlos told them over the phone, a triumphant grin evident in his voice. "Come to the junkyard next to that old factory in the park and we can get outta here. Hurry, though – it's almost dawn and we don't have much time until the missile hits."

"Carlos, we owe you big time," Jill told the young merc.

"You can thank me when we're flying out," Carlos laughed. "Just get down here!"

Wesker ended the call and they moved on. They entered the power plant where Wesker knew from his interrogation of Nicholai was an experimental anti-B.O.W. weapon. Jill gaped at the hulking Rail-Cannon and at the dead T-103 Tyrants. "What's all this?" she wondered aloud.

"The U.S. military's attempt to keep up with Umbrella's bioweapons. It seems to work even though it's only in the experimental stages," Wesker remarked, peering at the Cannon's controls. "Interesting. A shame this will be destroyed with the city." Jill looked askance at her lover.

Suddenly, from overhead, something dropped onto the floor with a meaty _thud_. Wesker swore under his breath and Jill watched in horror as the nearly unrecognizable Nemesis tore flesh from the carcass of a nearby Tyrant and proceeded to mutate even further, until it was a tentacled mass of deformed viral muscle.

"If it worked for them it can work for us," Wesker muttered. "Jill, don't bother with your guns. You keep an eye on the console and avoid that _thing_ while I figure out how to activate this Rail-Cannon." He wasted no time in going around the room and shoving the bulky battery components back into their places. He stood next to Jill as the automated voice announced that the weapon was activated.

"How does it work?" Jill asked, eyeing the controls warily. "Can you move it?"

"Doubtful. It's too bulky to swivel. I'll lure the Nemesis into range, you keep an eye on it and make sure it doesn't malfunction." Wesker peered over her shoulder at the screen briefly, before turning his attention back to the Nemesis.

Jill bristled slightly at always being told to stay back where it was safer. Sure he was improved and she'd just recovered from an infection, but Goddammit she could still fight! However, she kept that to herself for the moment – now was not the time to start a quarrel. He was just trying to look out for her, so how could she fault him?

It seemed like the machine would fire on its own once activated, so Jill took that opportunity to stand back from it so she could watch the action. It appeared as though the Nemesis' attacks now that it was so heavily mutated were flailing with its new tentacles, and spitting some sort of acid. She saw some of the fluid fly into Wesker's face and gasped, but skin grew back over almost as fast as it was melted away. The countdown to another blast cut through over the battlesounds and Wesker deftly pinned the Nemesis in place by tangling its deformed limbs up in its tentacles.

After several blasts, just as the Rail-Cannon overheated and shut itself down, the Nemesis finally stilled. The two ex-S.T.A.R.S. went to leave the room, only to have what was left of the beast shuffle after them. By that point, both of them were fed up with the thing's persistence. Wesker with his magnum and Jill with her shotgun, they both opened fire on it until the half-dead monster was all the way dead. "You want S.T.A.R.S.?" Jill spat. "We'll give you S.T.A.R.S.."

She glanced up at Wesker, whose expression was twisted into a particularly malicious sneer that, to be honest, frightened Jill a little. He had that feral look in his eyes again – having lost his sunglasses during the last altercation with the Nemesis – and his posture was tense as a coiled spring. Jill reached up hesitantly to put a hand on his arm. "Albert?"

He twitched slightly at the touch, and shook his head several times. "I'm all right," he muttered at length. "Come on, we need to leave, quickly." They both took off at a brisk trot through the facility and emerged into the open junkyard where Carlos waited just as the sky was beginning to turn gray in preparation for the dawn. They ran at full tilt for the helicopter, and Jill for one was mentally sobbing in relief.

They took off just in time to be out of the danger zone when the missile hit. Even then the shockwave rocked the helicopter to the point that Wesker had to catch Jill to keep her from falling ingloriously onto the floor. While he had an arm around her, the tyrant pulled her tight against him, and Jill willingly returned the fervent embrace. "It's over… for real this time. Once and for all," she breathed into his shoulder.

* * *

**And yes, I did have to throw in the RE5 reference there with the volcano comment. XP**

**Also, yes I know the whole "Jill's infected oh noes" went differently in the game, but it seemed kinda dumb to me that she spent like two days in limbo and then immediately after getting the antivirus/vaccine thing she was perfectly fine again. So I tweaked it to a scenario that made more sense to me.**


	9. Moving On

**Uhrf. I hate exams. And I hate insomnia. And I hate studying. All those together equals a very discontent Desert.**

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* * *

  
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Snow floated down from the slate-colored sky to coat the earth in a blanket of white as a plane touched down at a small airport in Vermont. One passenger in particular was weary from her journey, having come all the way from Europe and changing flights in New York before arriving here, at her final destination. She emerged into the terminal and searched the crowd with her eyes, looking for the beloved face she knew would be waiting for her. At first, she couldn't find him.

Then, from behind, strong arms encircled her waist and pulled her against someone's warm chest. "Welcome home," purred a deep voice; to her ears, it sounded like liquid silver.

Jill turned in Wesker's embrace, threw her arms around his neck, buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, and melted against him. "I missed you," she breathed. It had been over a year since they had last seen each other – the current date was November 17th, 1999. After escaping the doomed Raccoon city, Jill had gone off in search of Chris and Wesker had returned to researching his virus. They had kept in contact with a few infrequent phone calls over the intervening months, but this was the first chance they'd gotten to meet up in person.

Wesker carried Jill's checked bag easily in his free hand – over her protests – and kept the other around her waist as they exited the airport. Part of the way back to where Wesker had parked – the parking lot was rather poorly designed and it was a lengthy walk – Jill began shivering slightly. She hadn't expected the snow and was underdressed. So they paused for a moment, but instead of digging through her bag for her coat, Wesker simply took his off and held it out to her. At Jill's slight incredulity, he smirked. "You need it more than I do, dear heart," he remarked wryly. She noticed that he had nothing on under the long, black coat besides a long-sleeved shirt and blinked. Of course, she remembered that he was infected and his body worked differently from hers, but she hadn't realized he was this impervious to temperature.

She pulled on the coat and immediately sighed as the leftover body heat still trapped in the fabric soaked into her. He chuckled and, after hefting her bag back over his shoulder and wrapping his arm around her again, continued toward his car. Jill's eyebrows climbed up her forehead at the sleek Audi that flashed its headlights when he pressed the unlock button on his keys.

"Nice car," she commented.

Wesker set her bag down in the trunk and smirked. "One of the few things that make my job worth it is that they pay me well," he explained. "And you know I've always had a weakness for cars."

He opened the passenger door for her and she laughed as she sat down. "Oh yeah. First that cool old Mustang, and now this. Albert, you have expensive taste in vehicles."

"What can I say?" he replied with a chuckle. "Everyone has a vice." They exited the airport and fell into a comfortable silence for the rest of the drive. Jill dozed off against the window for the majority of the trip back, and Wesker didn't have the heart to wake her. Even when they arrived at his apartment, he didn't rouse her; he just slung her carry-on and the checked bag – a rolling duffel – across his shoulder and scooped her up in his arms. The weight of both bags and the sleeping woman were nothing to him. It was slightly awkward when he had to unlock the door, but he held Jill closer to his chest to free one hand and managed to get in without any mishaps, kicking the door shut behind him. The tyrant went straight to the bedroom and deposited his burden on the bed, dropping both her bags on the floor nearby for her to go through when she woke, and then just paused to watch her for a moment.

To his eyes she was beautiful no matter what the situation, but with her expression peaceful like this in slumber, her features had a softness to them that was often absent. He leaned down to gently ease his coat off her shoulders, but when he went to move her, she stirred enough to latch both hands onto his arm. "Albert…" she murmured. He pressed his lips softly to her cheek.

"Ssh. Go back to sleep, dear heart," he soothed, while deftly pulling the coat out from under her. Jill hummed in sleepy assent and released him to turn onto her side. He draped a blanket over her and slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. _Poor thing, jet lag must be hitting her hard,_ he thought.

A few hours later, Jill emerged from the bedroom and went to look for her lover. She followed the smells of food and the sounds of clattering dishes into the kitchen, where he appeared to be cleaning up after himself. She tried sneaking up on him, but that failed quite quickly, considering how sharp his senses were. Wesker turned around and raised an eyebrow. "Did you have a good nap?"

Her cover blown, Jill grinned and wrapped her arms around his waist fondly. "I did. Your bed is very comfortable. I almost didn't want to move."

He chuckled. "You can imagine how hard it is for me to get up in the morning."

Jill glanced around the kitchen and what she could see of the rest of the apartment. "Hmm, yeah. Damn, Albert, you've got a nice place here. These people you work for must pay you _very_ well for you to afford this, _and_ that car." She looked up at him.

He shrugged negligently. "Researchers in this line of work are always paid handsomely. It's as much to keep our mouths closed about the illicit nature of the experiments as it is to reward our efforts. If they pay us enough, it would outweigh whatever rewards we would get for turning our employers in to the authorities," he explained, a slight bitterness to his tone. "Actually, right now I'm getting a little more than I did with Umbrella. They're working especially hard to keep me where I am." He almost laughed.

Jill frowned slightly at his expression. "What… exactly are you doing? Who are you even working for?"

He sighed and grimaced. "These people are a lot like Umbrella," he explained, at length. "Like I told you before, I had no choice but to go right back into a bioweapons program, because anywhere else I wouldn't have the resources necessary to look into my virus."

She shook her head and stepped away. "You said you didn't want anything to do with these sort of people –"

"I _don't_, dear heart, but neither do I particularly want to _die_," he retorted. "You saw that I have to inject that serum – if I hadn't had access to the Organization's labs I wouldn't have been able to synthesize that serum, and I'd have been dead halfway through last _August_." He gazed sternly at Jill, who winced slightly at the undertone in his voice. "And it's not like I'm in the part of the program that actually _makes_ the bioweapons. My position is strictly research into the viral agents. I'm going to make some excuse to leave as soon as I can, actually – I've learned about all I can about the virus, so I don't need them anymore." That wasn't entirely true, since the components to make the serum were hard to find anywhere strictly _legal_, but he'd figured out a way to make do.

Jill chewed her lip pensively for a moment. She appeared to be deep in thought, and he wasn't inclined to break her concentration. The tension was dissipated soon, however, when Jill's stomach squirled impatiently in hunger, eliciting laughter from both of them. "Okay, okay. Is there anything to eat here? The last thing I had was junk from the airport in Paris."

So Wesker heated up some of the leftovers for her from the meal he'd just finished, and they both retired to the living area and pretended to watch the news. Jill sat curled against Wesker's side with her plate in her lap, smiling when his arms wound around her, and sighed contentedly. As much as she didn't like the thought, she did understand why he had to work where he did – and hadn't he just said he'd find a way to leave? That got her to thinking.

"So, dear heart, tell me what you've been up to since we last saw each other," he remarked once she'd finished her food and set the plate aside. "We haven't talked much, and I miss hearing your voice." She couldn't help but smile.

"I could say the same, but you're more the strong, silent type." He chuckled – she was right. "So I guess I'll just have to monopolize the conversation for a while." he rested his chin on her shoulder as Jill paused for a moment to decide where to start.

"After we got out of Raccoon, I didn't know quite what to do at first, so I decided to join up with whatever Chris was doing. But when I got to the place he said he'd be until things blew over, he wasn't there. I'd heard of an underground anti-Umbrella organization so I looked into it, and can you guess who I found?"

"Who?"

"Barry, for one. He was the first one in that group I talked to. He told me that Chris was off somewhere chasing after his sister, who'd gotten caught breaking into an Umbrella lab. She was probably looking for him."

He snorted wryly. "I saw that one coming."

"So did I, to be honest," she replied with a little smirk. "Apparently she was sent to a base on Rockfort Island, and then to an Antarctic base." Wesker's brow furrowed in concern – he recognized that base, oh yes – but since Jill was facing away from him she didn't notice. "I was about to go up after him, but we got word back that he and Claire were fine and headed back to France. Anyway, I joined the AUM and that's what I've been doing since January." She paused. "Were you aware that Claire got caught up in the Raccoon outbreak too?"

"The Organization had deployed an operative of theirs into the outbreak – for about the same reason Umbrella sent the U.S.S. and U.B.C.S.. Since my specialty is the t-virus and its relatives I managed to get the full report after I got back," he replied absently. "From what I heard, she did most of her running around while you were ill and we were stuck in the chapel." That was probably a good thing, since a normal Tyrant had apparently been released, along with the mutated G-creature. That would have been nightmarish to deal with, on top of that damned Nemesis.

Jill turned slightly in his arms so she could look into his face. "You said earlier that you planned to leave the Organization soon – what do you plan to do after that?" Thanks to the AUM she recognized the Organization's name, but she didn't really know much about it – they really only knew that it was one of Umbrella's top rivals. It was a secretive institution – even more so than Umbrella, in some ways.

Wesker shrugged slightly. "That's been the main sticking point keeping me from leaving. I'm not sure where else to go – anywhere my skills will be the least bit useful I run a high risk of being spotted by people I don't want knowing that I still live. The other options are just as unsavory as the Organization and I'd rather wash my hands of that sort of thing."

"Then join the AUM. You know way more about how Umbrella works than any of the rest of us – you'd be an invaluable help, Albert, truly. Chris, Barry and I know you and we'd vouch for you if anyone else has a problem with a former researcher joining." Jill looked him in the eye with an expression that was nearly pleading. "I'm not the only one who thinks so, either. I talked to the others about it and Chris and Barry both are all for it. Please, Albert?"

A faint smile tugged at his lips. "There's more than just that reason why you want me to join, isn't there?"

"That's the main reason, but… Albert, I miss seeing you. If you join the AUM then we won't have to go through months of being apart," she admitted, mirroring his smile.

He chuckled, then leaned down to press a kiss onto her brow. "I see no reason why not."

Jill's smile broadened, and she eased into his embrace. "I didn't think you would." She glanced over at the clock under the television and sighed. "Is it really that late already? Ugh. My flight got in so late, thanks to this snowstorm! It looks like we'll have to postpone our plans." She looked back up at him apologetically. "I'm sorry, Albert."

"That's fine. I don't mind an evening in. As long as I've got you here I'm happy," he said soothingly,

She shrugged slightly. "I know, but I kind of wanted to do something…" She paused as a mischievous little smirk began to spread over his face. "I know what you're thinking."

"What am I thinking, then?" he purred, leaning forward to capture her lips.

"The same thing I am," she muttered between kisses. "It's been too long."

Still with Jill in his arms, he stood and began heading toward the bedroom. "You read my mind."

* * *

When Jill woke up the next day, she was alone in bed. A quick tour through the apartment later and she found a note on the kitchen counter explaining that Wesker was at work and would return later that afternoon. She sighed and shook her head. "Workaholic. Can't even take a break for his own birthday."

After calling Chris to let him know she'd arrived safely – he was as concerned about her as he was his own sister at times – and that Wesker had agreed to join their anti-Umbrella movement, she decided to kill time by taking a tour of the apartment complex.

The ground outside was layered with knee-deep powder, in which Jill witnessed young children frolicking gleefully. She even joined a snowball fight with one group of middle school-aged children, whose classes had been cancelled that day due to the copious amounts of ice on the roads.

"That was fun!" one of the kids laughed. "Hey, what's your name? I'm Taylor. That's Ben and Trish over there."

She grinned at the garrulous youngster. "My name is Jill. I'm visiting for a while."

"I thought so, I haven't seen you around. Who're you visiting? Uh, if you don't mind my asking."

"Not at all. I'm visiting Albert Wesker – in 152-C. Do you kids know him?" She was curious to see what sort of reputation her lover had garnered in the complex.

"Oh! Mr. Wesker? He's my neighbor!" Ben exclaimed with a sunny grin. "Me and my mom live in 152-D."

Jill sat down on the curb with them. "You do? Do you see Albert much?"

"He's gone a lot, but sometimes I see him coming or going." Ben scratched his head. "My mom says she doesn't trust him, but I like him. We spotted this stray dog around the complex and me and him have been putting food out for him. We switch days, y'know. Mr. Wesker says he'll try to catch him and take him somewhere where he'll be adopted. I kinda wanted to keep him but he says I need to ask my mom… but I know what she's gonna say."

"No pets, blah blah blah," Jill interjected with a grin. "I know that feeling. My dad said the same thing whenever I wanted to get a dog when I was a kid."

"Oh look, there he is!" Trish cried, pointing to a sand-colored blotch against the white snow. "Buddy! Come here, Buddy!" The girl huffed impatiently. "Buddy doesn't like any of _us_," she remarked. "He only likes Ben and Mr. Wesker."

"Maybe 'cuz we're the ones who feed him," Ben retorted loftily.

"That's probably the case," chuckled a new voice from behind. Trish yelped in surprise, while she and Taylor nearly fell over. Jill laughed and looked over her shoulder at a grinning Wesker.

"Don't sneak up on people like that!" Ben scolded, though he was grinning as well.

"It isn't my fault the snow muffles my footsteps." The tyrant crouched down next to Jill. "Have you three been pestering Jill?"

"No!" The trio chimed as one. "We were having the epic snowball fight of the century and we're just taking a break," Taylor added defensively.

"An epic snowball fight? I'm hurt that you didn't invite me," Wesker teased.

Trish scoffed. "You'd be easy to hit, Mr. Wesker. You stand out like a sore thumb in all that _black_. And how can you see with those sunglasses on all the time? It's cloudy!"

He stood up and shrugged out of his coat, smirking slightly. "We'll see about that." After folding the coat and setting it aside, he went to pull of his sunglasses. At first Jill was concerned, but when he folded the shades and placed them on top of his coat, she relaxed. It seemed that he didn't rely entirely on the shades to hide his eyes, for their color when he removed the glasses was a quite unassuming shade of brown. The brown didn't suit him at all, in her opinion, but it would suffice.

Thus began another round of flying snowballs. Wesker was a popular target simply because, as Trish had pointed out, he was conspicuous in his solid black clothing. Jill was gratified to notice that on top of hiding his superhuman abilities, he toned it down even further. Even as a human he would have been fast enough to dodge most of the children's throws, and to land a few choice blows of his own. Here, though, he let a few if their throws land on him, and he avoided aiming for anyone's head or face. That was a pattern she'd seen in him a lot before.

Ben scooped up a handful of the snow – the flakes coming down now were the fat, wet kind that made it perfect for packing – balled it up and heaved it with all his might at the tyrant. Wesker happened to be kneeling to gather more ammunition, so when he stood, the snowball smacked hard into the back of his head. Wesker halted. Jill saw the grin on his face and laughed. "Oh no, Ben! You shouldn't have done that!"

Slowly, Wesker turned around, still with the double-handful of snow. "Now it's _war_," he stated ominously. Taylor and Trish _oooed_ while Jill snickered behind her hand. Ben looked traumatized. He took off running, but he wasn't fast enough to outrun Wesker, who grabbed him by the collar before he could escape. He took his handful of loose snow and stuffed it down the back of Ben's shirt before releasing the boy. Ben yelped and danced comically, trying to shake the snow out of his clothing, while the others dissolved into laughter.

In the distance, a female voice could be heard calling for Taylor and Trish. The two retreated from the battlefield, still laughing. "Bye guys! You should come hang with us more, Jill, that was great!" Taylor called over his shoulder.

Ben shuddered violently – the snow was finally beginning to melt, but that meant his shirt was dripping wet and the cold wind stirring the air wasn't helping. "Ugh, great, now I'm soaked!" he complained. Wesker just chuckled as he went to collect his coat and shades. "I need to go change. I'll see you later, Mr. Wesker. It's my turn to feed Buddy today." He turned to Jill. "Say, how long will you be here, Jill?"

"I'm not sure – a few more days at least." Jill shrugged.

"Heh, well, like Taylor said, you should come hang out with us sometime before you leave. You're a lot of fun." He grinned. "I gotta go. See ya!" He trotted off with a wave.

Jill waved back, a smile on her lips. "He's a sweet kid," she remarked to Wesker.

"And far more mature than most children his age. Barely fourteen but he's more level headed than a lot of nineteen-year-olds I know," he answered approvingly. "Shall we?" Wesker gestured toward the apartment.

Jill chuckled as they walked. "Playing in the snow with a pack of kids, feeding stray dogs… you're going soft on me, Albert," she teased.

He snorted. "The dog was Ben's idea. He told me he's been lusting after a pet for some time, but his mother is allergic and hates animals with a passion. When that stray was seen around, I caught him feeding it scraps from his dinner that he'd saved, but rather than turn him in to Janice, I offered to help him. I buy the dog food, and on alternating days I'll put some out for him. Ben was the one who named the dog Buddy."

Jill shrugged out of her jacket once they were inside. "I'm kind of surprised you've befriended those kids. I never really took you for the type."

"I prefer the company of children over that of adults, most of the time – they're far more pleasant on the whole. I've been around too many avaricious and unprincipled adults in my lifetime," he replied with a touch of bitterness. "A child's innocence and optimism is refreshing." Jill could certainly understand that.

"And the reason I spend so much time with those three in particular is to… take up the slack from their parents." He snorted scornfully. "Taylor and Patricia are siblings. Their stepfather is apathetic toward them at best, neglectful at worst – and their mother, as the only breadwinner, has two jobs and spends more time working than at home." Jill made a little noise of disapproval. "Ben's parents are divorced and currently in the middle of a horrendous custody battle. His father recently fell prey to alcoholism. Janice would be a decent parent, but I think she's just too young to be a mother. She was too young to _marry_ if you ask me, but the impression I got was that Greg swept her off her feet and she was too starry-eyed to keep away from him, and when Ben's accidental conception came to light they rushed into marriage."

"How sad. For all of them."

"It is," Wesker agreed.

Jill heaved a sad sigh for the childrens' plights, before pulling herself from melancholy and wrapping her arms around Wesker's waist. "By the way, happy birthday," she murmured. "You're thirty-nine now, hmm?"

He leaned down to kiss her as his arms found their way around her. "Mmh, I'm getting old."

"But still as handsome as ever." Jill ran her hands through his hair, smiling. "You look young for your age, you know that? You don't look a day over thirty-five."

_And not likely to change,_ he thought. He was still cringing at the realization that the virus' regenerative tendencies meant that it his appearance would stay the same. The accumulated damage at the molecular level and at the macroscopic level that contributed to aging would be repaired, keeping him at his physiological prime for the rest of his life… however long that would be. But Jill didn't need to know that, at least for the moment. "Thank you, dear heart."

Jill paused for a moment with a contemplative expression, then skimmed her thumb under his left eye. "So, these are colored contacts, right?"

"Yes. I can't plausibly keep the sunglasses on all the time I'm out in society, and contacts were the easiest solution." He sighed. "Not even a year and a half and I'm already tired of this."

She reached up to cup both hands around his face. "I'm sorry, Albert. It must be hard."

He lifted and dropped one shoulder. "For the most part it isn't that bad. There are moments, though…"

"If you want or need to talk about something, Albert, I'm right here. I may not be able to fully understand, but I can be a sympathetic ear. I'm here for you, love, just like I always have been," she said, looking earnestly into his eyes. "You have this annoying tendency to keep all your troubles to yourself and then blow it off when I finally do notice, Albert. You don't need to do that. No one's asking you to be invincible."

A faint smile tugged at his lips. "I know, I know. But it's easier said than done to undo a lifelong habit."

"It's part of who you are, and I'm not asking you to change. I'm just trying to make a compromise here. I know the only way for me to get you to talk about the things that bother you is to ask about it, but I don't want you to feel like I'm being too nosy or anything." She stroked his cheek with one of the hands she still held against his face. "You're too stoic for your own good and I can be a busybody sometimes. We've had this problem before. One day we'll figure it out."

He opened his mouth to answer, but a knock on the door interrupted. Jill stepped back to let him open the door. Ben waved cheerily. "Hey again!"

Wesker closed the door back behind the preteen. "Have you seen Buddy out there?"

"Uh huh. He's at the corner like always," Ben responded, grinning. He turned to Jill to explain. "We put the food out at the corner of the building, and Buddy's gotten used to eating there, so whenever it's feeding time he shows up right there, like clockwork."

Jill laughed and followed the pair as they went to feed Buddy. The mutt – Jill wagered he was a mix of lab and Chow Chow – inhaled the kibble put in front of him and then went to investigate the stranger, which soon turned into Jill and Wesker watching Ben and Buddy wrestle together in the snow. By then the sun had set behind the clouds, which had never stopped dropping snow on them, so it didn't take long for Ben to decide he needed to thaw out. While they had watched, Jill had soon resigned herself to clinging to Wesker's side to soak in his body heat. The tyrant opened up his coat and wrapped it around Jill to help keep her warm. The trio soon parted ways, with Ben going back to his home, while Jill and Wesker climbed into the car.

"By the way, Albert, I'm paying," Jill asserted as they turned onto the street. "This is my birthday present to you so don't think about pulling your usual gentleman crap. Got it?"

He chuckled. "If you say so," he replied, with the tone Jill knew meant that he had no intention of doing what she said. She shook her head in mock exasperation.

They drove through the small, wintery town and Jill smiled at the old-timey look of the downtown. "Wow. This is a neat place," she remarked.

"It really is. They've managed not to completely ruin this area by renovating it. There's a park a few streets over, right on the shore of the lake – if you feel up to it, we can have a stroll through it after dinner," Wesker answered in kind. "The wind has died down with the snow, so it shouldn't feel quite as cold as it did earlier."

"And either way you're a walking furnace," she added wryly, eliciting a chuckle from him. "Just out of curiosity, what temperature do you run these days? I know it's higher than normal…"

"My skin temperature stays at around one-oh-five unless the ambient air is significantly warmer or cooler, but my core is closer to one-ten." He shrugged. "Just another side-effect of a fast metabolism."

Jill blinked in amazement. "Damn. So room temperature feels cool to you, huh?"

"Slightly. It's barely enough to notice."

Now that the subject had been broached, Jill's curiosity was piqued even further. "So how does your body deal with extreme temperatures, have you figured that out yet?"

He suppressed a smile at all the questions. "My body deals with cold in essentially the same way it did when I was human, but to a slightly more extreme degree. It taps into the stores of fat and burns them for heat – and when those run out, it goes for the glycogen in my muscle tissue. Blood flow slows pretty much to a halt in my extremities to conserve heat in my core. It slows me down considerably and afterwards I need to eat a lot to replenish what was burned. Tyrants are even less adapted to the cold than humans in some ways since we have such high metabolisms." He turned to glance at Jill and saw that she was watching him in fascination. "When subjected to extreme heat, I become something of a reptile." Her expression was slightly incredulous now. Wesker grinned. "The process by which my body produces its own heat shuts down so that I don't overheat. Again, it slows me down, but not as much and at least I don't come out of it ravenously hungry. It's easier for my body to cope with high temperatures than low."

Jill's curiosity had apparently been sated, for she was quiet for the remaining few minutes it took to arrive at their destination: a tiny restaurant sandwiched between two equally small storefronts, which were in turn packed in with several more stores that formed a continuous line down the whole block. Jill smiled at the quaint look of the whole scene as Wesker parallel parked deftly in an open space not far from the restaurant. She obligingly waited for him to come around and open her door for her, then hooked an arm around his waist. Even through the coat she could feel his body heat – it just gave her another excuse to wrap her arms around him to ward off the cold.

"I never would have noticed this place just driving by. When did you discover it?" Jill inquired. They hadn't had a reservation, but had been seated almost immediately after arriving, and at one of the tables set right up against the glass front. She leaned back in her seat and gazed out into the street.

"When I first got here, I did some exploring to get to know the town. Once, I was just wandering through the park and came across an older woman who started up a conversation – when she learned I had just moved in she took it on herself to be my guide, and this was one of the places she showed me." He nodded toward the rest of the room. "Since then I've become a regular here. These little hole-in-the-wall places always have good food, and this particular one is actually decently priced. This is one of my favorite haunts when I feel like getting away from the apartment."

"Well well well, Albert, you finally got your girl up here, I see," chuckled a new voice. Jill turned to look at the waiter who had spoken, and she had to smile in response to the big, friendly grin the stocky man wore. "Good thing I'm on duty tonight, then!"

Wesker returned the laugh. "Indeed. It might break poor Laura's heart to see me with someone else," he replied wryly. Jill surmised that Laura was a waitress who was infatuated with Wesker. She didn't blame the girl in the least.

The waiter turned to Jill and extended his hand. "It's nice to finally meet the woman Albert won't shut up about. I'm Garrett, your waiter for the evening and one of the few people around here with the courage to befriend your boyfriend over there."

Jill laughed and shook his hand, for she could easily understand where that comment came from. You had to be used to Wesker's mannerisms not to be slightly intimidated. "Jill Valentine, it's a pleasure. I'm glad to hear that there's at least one person who doesn't fall for Albert's 'Leave me alone or I'll bite you' act."

Garrett burst into a fit of chuckles, as much from Wesker's mock-indignant expression as from Jill's comment. He turned to Wesker and nodded firmly. "I like her, Albert. You'd better keep her!"

"I plan to," he replied, still with a wry twist to his lips.

Garrett nodded again and turned back to Jill. "Good! Well, I already know what he's gonna get, so I won't bother asking. What about you, Jill, anything to drink?"

"Just water, please." She'd been so distracted, first by watching the street and then by Garrett's appearance that she had barely looked at the menu.

"Water it is. Do you want another minute or three to look over the menu?" Garrett had his pad in hand and pen poised to write.

"Yes please," she responded absently, having just opened the menu and begun to scan through it.

"All righty, take your time. I'll prowl by every now and then, so just grab me when you're ready." He scratched something down on the pad and turned to leave, but Jill suddenly remembered something.

"Oh, wait, hold on!" Garrett swiveled to face her again. "It's Albert's –"

Wesker reached across the table to put his hand across Jill's mouth. "Stop right there," he warned.

A toothy grin spread across the curly-haired waiter's face. "Ooh, I got it. Don't worry, Jill, I'll take care of it." He spun and was away before Wesker could react.

The tyrant gave her the evil eye, to which Jill only smiled. "Why did you have to tell him?"

Jill adopted her most innocent expression. "I told him nothing – you cut me off before the word passed my lips." Wesker sighed and shook his head. "Oh cheer up, Albert. I'll ask him to spare the chorus of waiters singing," she soothed.

After that the evening progressed pleasantly, with Garrett occasionally interjecting amusing quips whenever he happened to pass their table on his rounds. She found that Wesker had been right – the food was very good. And when the check came, it was cheaper than she'd expected.

Garrett placed the pleather-bound folder on the table and moved on quickly to the family a few tables over with a large brood of restless children. He had almost made the mistake of handing it right to Wesker, but a pointed look from Jill kept him from doing that – but since Wesker was also eyeing him sharply, he took the easy way out by just putting it on the table between them. Wesker started to reach for the check, but Jill quickly plucked it off the table.

"Didn't I say I would pay?" she reminded him sternly.

He absentmindedly toyed with the crumbs of cake left on his plate. Garrett had taken pity on him and just brought out the dessert sans toneless singing even without Jill prompting him to. "Haven't you already subjected me to enough in the name of my birthday?" he asked, cajolingly.

"Really, Albert, you are the only one I know who is bothered by _not_ being required to pay for a meal." Jill rolled her eyes and snapped the folder shut around her debit card. Because she didn't trust Wesker not to try to sneak his own card in there while she wasn't looking, Jill held onto the folder until Garrett came back around to take it. The stocky waiter bid them good night with a grin and made Jill promise to take care of her antisocial boyfriend.

As soon as they stepped outside the restaurant, they were assaulted by a gust of icy wind that kicked up little clouds of snow and made the temperature feel far colder than it really was. "Whoo! Maybe we can postpone that park thing, Albert," Jill remarked as she latched her arms around him.

"Good idea," he chuckled.

As soon as they got to the car and started it, Jill turned the heat on its highest setting, and sat there trying not to shiver until the engine warmed up. They settled into a comfortable silence for a while.

"Who all is part of the anti-Umbrella organization, Jill? You told me that Chris and Barry are, but who else?" Wesker asked after a time. He was curious to know with whom he would be working.

"A handful of random people, mostly people like us who have a vendetta against Umbrella. I think there are a few former employees already in our ranks, so you won't be alone. There's also Claire, who joined up about the same time I did despite Chris' objections. She brought a guy named Leon in with her – apparently he helped her get through the Raccoon outbreak." Jill paused in thought. "I know of several other groups of people who work under the same name, but we don't have much to do with them. The movement is pretty badly organized at this point, but there's been considerable improvement over the past year, just that I've seen." She glanced over at him and saw a small smirk on his lips. "What's that look about?"

"Have Claire and Leon said much about their experience in the outbreak?" he asked.

Confused, Jill inclined her head. "Well, yeah. They told their story to the whole group, like I told mine. That was what convinced the others who don't know you that it's safe to let you on board, when I told them how you helped me and Carlos."

"Did Claire happen to mention someone by the name of Sherry Birkin when they were telling their story?"

Jill's eyes widened. "Yes… how do you know about that?"

"Like I told you yesterday, my dear, the Organization had an operative in there and I was given a full report." Wesker's expression became pensive. "Is the movement equipped to assist a fugitive?"

"Half or more of our members are fugitives themselves, so of course… wait. Albert, what are you saying?" Jill's brow furrowed in consternation.

"Before we leave for the AUM, we need to take a detour. See if you can arrange it with the others – but don't tell Claire." A hint of mischief reappeared on his face, and Jill's broke into a smile.

"You're horrible."

"Oh come on, you know her reaction is going to be priceless."

* * *

**So yeah, I decided to just post these chapters as they come. Since I already went ahead and posted the first few chapters before the rest was done, I see no reason to keep you guys waiting for another few weeks for the next few chapters.**

**The only reason this chapter is up so promptly is that I was almost done with it when I posted the first three, but I was too impatient then to wait, knowing that my Muse might well decide to put this off for a few days. So here you go, but don't expect another update for a few days at the least. Probably Upside Down once Melpomene gets over the fact that a page or so got accidentally deleted.**

**Yeah. This chapter was mostly just fluffy filler, and next chapter there will be more action-y plotness.  
**


	10. Welcome

Jill looked around curiously. They were in a nondescript, very homey suburb in Rhode Island where, according to Albert, a "trusted acquaintance" was keeping Sherry. He hadn't told her how Sherry had gotten there, only that he would explain to everyone at once when they had gotten to the AUM headquarters. She was willing to accept that – sometimes one could never be too careful when dealing with groups like Umbrella or the Organization.

Their footsteps crunched through a thin crust of ice that had formed from yesterday's snow that had half melted in the sun and refrozen overnight. She followed the tyrant up to one house in the line of cookie-cutter homes and stood to one side on the porch when he knocked. After a few moments, a woman somewhere between the ages of forty and sixty opened the door and smiled at the two visitors. "Oh, there you are, Albert. Come on in." She stood aside to let them in. "And who is this you've brought?"

Jill heard an edge in the woman's voice and noticed well-concealed, wary tension in her posture until Wesker spoke up. "Jill is a friend, Karen. She's with the AUM." Karen nodded in understanding, and the smile magically reappeared on her expression.

"Well then, shall I go ahead and call Sherry down? I'm sure you want to be on your way as soon as possible."

"Please do."

Karen nodded and went over to the foot of the stairs. "Sherry, dear! Albert is here, it's time to go!"

Jill heard footsteps clatter down the stairs. Karen stepped back with a smile, just in time for a short, slender figure to swerve around the corner and barrel at full tilt toward them. Surprise stamped itself on her face as the little girl collided with Albert and promptly latched onto his waist. "Uncle Albert!" Sherry squealed, beaming excitedly up into his sunglasses.

Jill bit her lip to keep her expression in place as much as possible. Sherry seemed overjoyed to see him, something Jill hadn't expected in the least. Wesker's camaraderie with the children from his apartment complex was one thing, but this was another. Those kids didn't call him Uncle Albert. Uncle Albert. If she hadn't been biting her lip almost hard enough to draw blood she might have laughed. He was just full of surprises lately.

Albert chuckled and ruffled Sherry's hair fondly. "Hello, Sherry. How have you been doing?" He gently pried her arms from his waist and crouched so he was on her level.

Karen came up beside Jill and cast a motherly eye over Sherry and Albert. "They're cute together, don't you think?"

"Adorable," Jill agreed. "Do you know how they know each other?"

Karen shrugged. "Not really. I've known Albert for some time, but I never knew anything about Sherry until he brought her to me a few months ago and asked me to take care of her. I didn't ask because in situations like hers, the less said the better." She exchanged a saddened look with Jill.

Sherry scampered back upstairs to retrieve her bag and Wesker stood back up. "Thank you, Karen, for taking such good care of her," he said sincerely.

She waved airily. "It was nothing, Albert, truly. She's been good company for a misanthrope like me. I'll miss her, but it's good that she'll be going somewhere safe."

With bag in hand, Sherry came back down the stairs. She dropped in to confront Karen. "'Bye, Karen," she said mournfully. "Thanks for everything."

Karen knelt and pulled Sherry into a hug. "C'mon, Sherry. Buck up, girlie. We'll keep in touch. You take care of your Uncle Albert, hmm? Keep him in line for me."

Sherry accepted a kiss on the forehead from her caretaker and nodded, picking her bag up, and went to stand next to Wesker. The tyrant leaned forward and, in another move that caught Jill by surprise, embraced Karen affectionately. "You too, kid. Be safe."

"Yes, mother," he retorted, earning himself a chuckle and a mock swat on the head.

"All right, you lot, get outta my house," Karen ordered, making shooing motions with both hands. Albert chuckled and, after reaching down to pick Sherry's bag up, ushered the little girl out in front of him. Jill followed them out to where Albert's Audi was parked in the driveway. Karen stood in the doorway while they put Sherry's bag in the trunk, got arranged in the car, and pulled out into the street. She waved after them until they were out of sight.

Sherry dozed off in the backseat. "So, how do you know Karen?" Jill asked, burning with curiosity after their show of affection before leaving.

He watched the road thoughtfully for a few moments. "It's a private joke between us that she's like my second mother." He chuckled at a fond memory. "She's actually my older sister. There's no blood relation since I was technically an only child, but when my parents died when I was a child, Karen's parents took me in." Jill inclined her head and regarded her lover sadly.

"Wow, I never knew…" She realized that she knew next to nothing about his early life. "How much older is she?"

"Six years. I was seven and she thirteen when her family adopted me – you can imagine the sibling rivalry. We were both used to being only children, which made it all the worse." He chuckled again. "We drove our parents to distraction for a while, but once we got used to each other we were inseparable. Since I was so young when they took me in, I began to think of them as my real family. I don't remember much of my biological parents, but it never bothered me."

Jill meshed her fingers with his, as he had one hand draped on the armrest. "I don't remember much of my mom either," she remarked distantly. "I'm sure I've told you this story, but she died when I was in high school. She was never much of a parent so it didn't affect me that badly. My dad did most of the raising – he's the one I'll miss when he dies." Albert leaned over to press his lips to her temple.

"Ew, kissy-face," Sherry protested playfully from the back.

"I thought you were going to sleep?" Jill asked, turning in her seat to raise an eyebrow at the girl.

But Sherry's eyes were already closed. "I can't hear you, I'm asleep," she said, trying valiantly and failing not to smile. Jill chuckled and Sherry shifted to get more comfortable, pulling the collar of her jacket up around her face. She gazed at the pink fabric sadly, though her expression was hidden from the two adult.

* * *

Jill went into the meeting room ahead of Wesker and Sherry, curious to see who had gathered to greet the new member. The core of their group: Chris, Barry, Claire, and even Leon. The others apparently were still a little wary, though Jill could hardly blame them. Chris waved to her and grinned. "Hey Jill! Where'd Wesker get to?"

Jill sat between Chris and his sister with an enigmatic smile. "He'll be in soon, he just needs to take care of something. Barry, Leon and Chris caught that smile and had to suppress their own. They all knew that Sherry was due to arrive, but by common consent they'd kept it a secret from Claire.

Just down the hall, Albert was escorting Sherry into the meeting room. He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her – Sherry looked up at the tyrant with wide eyes. He crouched down so they were eye to eye. "What's wrong, Sherry?"

She looked down at her shoes. "Nothing."

He curled a finger under her chin and lifted her head up. "No, it's something. You can tell me, Sherry. What's bothering you?"

The little girl sighed heavily. "I don't wanna meet anyone new. I don't wanna make any more friends – everyone I love ends up leaving me. First Mom and Dad, then Claire, then Karen…" Her eyes were slightly glassy when she looked back up at him.

Wesker's face softened sympathetically. "Remember what Karen said, Sherry? You can still keep in touch with her. Now that you're here, you're safe – you don't have to hide out." Hope crept back into her eyes.

"So I can still talk to Karen? Can I visit her?"

"Yes, you can talk to Karen. I'll be around here a lot and I have her number. You might not be able to visit very much, not at first, but later on you could go see her." He paused for a moment. "And I wouldn't say Claire left you. Didn't you tell me she promised to find you someday?" Sherry nodded. "Then I'm sure you'll see her soon. In fact, you might see her sooner than you think."

Perplexed, Sherry started to ask what he meant, but then Albert stood and urged her forward with a hand on her back. "Come on then, at least say hello to everyone. I'll be there and so will Jill, so you won't be alone." Jill and Sherry had quickly struck of a friendship in the few days since they'd met.

Sherry heard a few unfamiliar male voices coming from the meeting room and hesitated at the door. Albert glanced down at her. "Do you want to wait out here for a minute?" Sherry nodded wordlessly. "All right. Come on in whenever you want." The poor girl was rather traumatized after the events of the past year, so he didn't entirely blame her for being so wary of going into a room full of strangers. So he went into the room and let Sherry linger out in the hall until she worked up the courage to come in – he had a feeling that as soon as she heard Claire's voice she would come running.

The only one who didn't turn her head to watch him enter was Jill, who'd been listening for sounds outside the door and had heard him talking to Sherry. Chris and Barry both grinned, while Claire and Leon both widened their eyes. He'd foregone contacts and sunglasses for this initial meeting, reasoning that the ones who hadn't already seen them would hopefully not react too strongly with the ones who had seen them as an example. Thankfully, both of the two younger members had been through enough that red eyes didn't bother them too much. They'd seen far worse.

"Chris, Barry," he greeted mildly.

"Captain Wesker," Barry rumbled. Albert quirked an eyebrow.

"Haven't I asked you not to call me that?"

"We didn't listen," Chris commented wryly. He stood up and went to throw an arm over Claire's shoulder. "This is my sister, Claire – I don't think you've met."

"Not for lack of trying," Claire added, rolling her eyes. "He kept babbling to me that I needed to meet all his friends at the station the next time I was on break." She extended her hand as he approached and shook it.

Albert chuckled. "He did the same at the station, babbling that we all needed to meet his baby sister."

Jill and Barry joined in the laughter, since it was all true. Chris huffed indignantly. Leon stepped forward and offered his hand. "Leon Kennedy," he said solemnly. "I'm probably the only one in the room with no connection to S.T.A.R.S., but I was a police officer in Raccoon."

Claire snorted. "A rookie on his first day, you mean."

Leon narrowed one eye at her. "Hey, it's not my fault I got caught up in that outbreak the first day!"

Wesker grinned. "Your first day on the job and you got caught in the outbreak?"

Claire patted Leon's back. "Guy's just got no luck."

Hearing shuffling noises on the other side of the door, Albert paused to listen. He smiled slightly. "That's unfortunate. What's also unfortunate is that _someone_ is being a huge, sissy _coward,_" he remarked emphatically, turning to face the door. "We know you're out there, sweetheart, you might as well come in."

Claire looked at Leon for clarification, but he just shrugged. He knew but he wasn't about to spoil the surprise. He knew just how worried Claire had been about Sherry.

"I'm not a sissy!" came the protest from outside. Claire froze solid in shock.

"Then get your butt in here!" Jill called. "There's someone here who really wants to see you, Sherry."

The door eased open and Sherry peered through the opening – but all vestige of shyness was lost when she spotted Claire, whose expression of surprise hadn't faded. The little girl shoved the door all the way open and bolted across the room, right into Claire, who nearly fell over from the force of the impact. Chris caught her and tried to help her stand up, but the young woman fell into a kneeling position the better to hug Sherry. Grinning, Leon crouched down next to them and was pulled into the fierce embrace as well.

Jill went over to Albert and leaned against his side. "You were right," she murmured.

"Of course," he replied smugly. Chris and Barry chuckled.

Eventually, Leon pulled Claire and Sherry to their feet and sat them down at the table. Sherry grabbed Albert's hand and pulled him down next to her, while on her other side was Claire. Before he could do much else, she pointed accusingly at him. "You never told me she was here!"

He raised his eyebrows innocently. "You never asked."

Everyone laughed, with the exception of Sherry, who pouted cutely at him for a moment. But she couldn't keep it up, and soon enough she cracked a smile.

After that, the conversation entailed introducing Sherry to Chris and Barry, then she and Claire monopolized the conversation for some time, catching up after over a year of wondering where the other was. Sherry told the group about staying over at Karen's house and getting periodic visits from Uncle Albert – that term made grins appear on everyone's faces – and it wasn't long before the girl was starting to doze off against Claire's side. Jet lag was hitting her hard.

"Hold on, let me get her to bed," Claire said at length. "Then we can talk business. You," she turned to Albert, "have a lot of explaining to do." The tyrant smiled mildly. "Where is she staying?"

Jill offered to take her there, and off the two women went with Sherry in tow. Once they were out of earshot, Chris grinned. "You _have_ to tell us where the 'Uncle Albert' came from."

He chuckled. "I'll tell the whole story when Jill and Claire get back. Patience."

Soon Claire and Jill returned and took their places around the table. Claire turned to Wesker and crossed her arms firmly. "All right, spill it. Where did you find her?" Chris put a hand on her shoulder, but she didn't seem to notice. "I thought she was safe with the feds. What happened?"

Albert leaned back in his chair and sighed. "The government is no safe place for someone Umbrella has an interest in. She was lucky that they got what they wanted from her and had no further use once they got that locket. As it was, since the sample the Organization had sent their operative in to get was taken by the U.S.S., that didn't give them much of a choice. The agent managed to get a sample from William's body, but that wasn't enough to satisfy some. They knew that Sherry had been given that G-embryo and, naturally, they were curious." Claire's hands clenched into fists.

"They kidnapped her?" she hissed.

"Essentially."

Everyone's mood darkened. This news wasn't surprising – the Organization was just as odious an institution as Umbrella, but that didn't make it any easier to swallow. "So, what then? Did they experiment on her?" Claire asked, obviously dreading the answer.

"They sent her and the sample to the only researcher in their midst who'd had any experience working with the G-virus," he answered darkly. Claire and Leon, who hadn't known that he'd been working for the Organization, eyed him warily. Under the table, Jill squeezed his hand. "And believe me when I say that Sherry is supremely lucky that I was there. If it had been anyone else, she would be just another test subject."

"How do you know her, though?" asked Leon curiously.

Albert leaned his head back against the headrest of his chair. "I knew her father for years. William and I were partners for over a decade – we first started working together in the Training Facility when I was eighteen and he was sixteen, and Marcus singled us out to be his apprentices. We got to be close friends through the years. I was the best man when he married Annette, and once she got back from the hospital from giving birth to Sherry, Will came to the lab and forcefully dragged me over to his house to show me his new daughter." A faint smile tugged at his lips, and Claire wasn't the only one in the room who looked moved. "It was only two years after that when he started working on his G-virus project – I'd left Umbrella and started at the R.P.D.. Annette helped William with his project, and the two of them were at the lab as often as not. Even though my hours were sometimes erratic, I was home more than they were – more than a few times, one of the would call and beg me to pick Sherry up from school or to watch her until they could get home. I'm sure I was around as much, maybe more than they were." He sighed. "That didn't surprise me. Will had a one-track mind and was absolutely fascinated with the viruses – if Annette or I didn't remind him the man would often forget to eat or sleep. So while Sherry's parents got more and more involved with the Gene virus project, she was left to her own devices half the time. Sometimes she would even call me on their house phone and ask me to come keep her company. That's why she calls me her uncle, since you're all so curious."

Claire was regarding the tyrant thoughtfully. "So you were as much of a figure in her life growing up as her parents… that explains a lot. And when she was kidnapped by the Organization…"

"She was sent to me. They didn't know that I knew her, of course – or at least they didn't know we were so close. They just gave her to me since I'd worked with the creator of the G-virus and if anyone in their ranks could figure out if there was anything G-related still in her it was me." He half growled. "There isn't, by the way. I tested her for it and it came up negative. They wanted me to do a whole range of different tests – the normal procedure when they get a new virus and a host who's probably compatible." An expression of disgust was traded around the room. "Needless to say I had no intention of following through. The first time they brought Sherry to my lab she was absolutely petrified, but as soon as she recognized me she seemed convinced that everything would be all right." He chuckled bleakly. "Her Uncle Albert was there, so of course she wasn't as frightened. And, after that, there was no other option – I had to get her out of there."

"How?" Claire breathed.

A smirk tugged at Albert's lips. "Well, think about it. The sort of environment she was brought into every time she came to my lab was beyond even the Biosafety Level 4 in facilities like USAMRIID – a lab containing pathogenic agents more deadly than Ebola is no place for a twelve-year-old. I was lucky to escape the room with my life," he explained wryly. "And as soon as the alarm sounded, it's standard procedure to completely shut down the affected wing of the facility. The hot areas are immediately sterilized, and the policy is shoot first and ask questions later. By the time the fuss was over, my lab was destroyed beyond recognition. It set me back by _months_." They all chuckled appreciatively at his cleverness. "All my samples were gone too – even the one they got of the G-virus. The only thing left was the data I'd backed up onto a disc from my computer, and most of that was useless stuff on some obscure virus that no one recognized." He flicked one hand dismissively. "They didn't question that since they were more concerned with the loss of the samples, and either way I was too valuable a resource to run the risk of driving me off from too much snooping into my business. As long as I did what they told me to do they were willing to let me toy around with a side project in my free time."

"And so you got Sherry out in the confusion, and took her to Karen?" Jill interjected.

"Not directly, but yes. Karen knows quite a lot about my career with Umbrella, having been my confidant more than once when I was still new to the business. More than that, she's every bit as clever as I am, and she's discreet. I wish there had been another place I could've taken Sherry but Karen was the only one I trusted enough." He shook his head. "Really it would have been too easy to figure out if they hadn't thought Sherry was dead. I couldn't have picked a more _obvious_ place to take her and I was constantly paranoid that they would be found out. That's why I brought Sherry here as quickly as I did – both of them are far safer now."

Jill could easily imagine how worried he must have been. With his adoptive sister and quasi-niece in jeopardy, he had every right to be paranoid. The Organization had only to snoop into his history to find out about Karen, and right there they would have him. At least now Sherry was no longer in Karen's custody – though that didn't necessarily mean she was completely safe. Being a loved one of someone on the hit list of the Organization or Umbrella automatically put her at risk. Just like Jill's father and Barry's family were at risk – the ones with the least to worry about were actually Chris and Claire, who had no other family and were both in the AUM.

Claire sucked in a deep breath and sighed heavily. "Well, I'm glad you did. Now there's at least one person I don't have to worry about as much." Chris put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

A pensive expression overtook Wesker's face as he contemplated revealing something else. It wouldn't be received well, but it would be more cruel to keep the information to himself. He cleared his throat. "The other person would be Steve Burnside, correct?"

Claire's head snapped up. "Steve! Do you know where he is? Is he alive?" The emotion in her eyes was heartbreaking.

Chris frowned. "Hold up, how do…?"

"How do I know?" Albert snorted. "Where do you think those H.C.F. operatives who started the outbreak came from? The Capture Force is the Organization's version of the U.S.S.." He looked at the two Redfield siblings grimly. "I was asked, initially, to lead the force up to Rockfort, but since I had no intention of having anything else to do with Umbrella I managed to find a way out of that obligation. Now I almost wish I hadn't, but it would have been easier said than done for me to have offered any assistance with the Organization breathing down my neck the whole time." They both nodded in understanding. "But even though I'd escaped taking part in the mission, that didn't excuse me from my usual job of having a look at the samples and data they brought back. I was… rather disgusted, truth to tell… when the sample they gave me to work with was still living."

Claire gripped her brother's arm fiercely. "He was alive?"

"For the most part. He was in a coma. Long story short was that once I did the tests that I was comfortable doing to a still living being, I went to pull the plug – believe me, with the shape he was in, death would have been a mercy – but before I could he spontaneously woke from the coma." He shook his head slightly. "I would have helped him end it if he so desired, but he refused, even after I made it abundantly clear that he was facing a fate worse than death. And after what happened with Sherry, the Organization didn't want to risk another 'accident' like that, so he was transferred to a different researcher."

"So he's still alive somewhere, being experimented on?" Claire asked, her voice choked with tears.

"The last I heard, yes." Albert looked at her somberly. "I did all I could while he was still in my custody, but once I was taken off his case, there wasn't much I could do at the time." Claire's eyes flashed, but before she could speak, he continued. "That says nothing about now, though. My hands were tied then because I was trying to keep my job, but now that I've cut all ties with the Organization, I have more freedom. Which brings me to this, before I forget…" He fished around in a pocket of his coat for a moment and withdrew an unmarked, ordinary-looking compact disc in its jewel case, which he placed on the table. "Before I left the lab for the final time, I took the liberty of hacking the mainframe and raiding it for all it was worth. Everything I could get my hands on is on there. A lot of it is probably useless for our purposes, but somewhere in there should be more than a few nuggets of information that you don't already have but could definitely use. Including the location of every Organization lab and the specifics of every experiment currently in progress in those labs."

The humans all stared incredulously at the unassuming CD. Then, Barry looked up at Wesker, whose expression was particularly smug. "Damn. I'm glad you're on our side!"

Chris looked from the disc to Claire, then to the former S.T.A.R.S. captain. "I think I know what we'll be doing next," he remarked, glancing back to his sister.

Claire grinned fiercely. "Damn straight."

Albert cleared his throat again. "I already pinpointed the location of the lab where Steve is being held – there's no need to go through that disc just yet, at least not for information necessary for this mission. I've already got it all up here," he tapped the side of his head, and the smug smirk only widened. "I had a feeling you would want to go rescue your friend so I went ahead and did the research. All that's left really is to arm up and head out."

Chris, Jill and Barry exchanged grins. This was the Albert Wesker they had all grown to admire in S.T.A.R.S., and all three of them were intensely glad to be working with him again. Leon looked quite impressed, while Claire was too busy staring intently at the CD on the table, lost in her own thoughts.

Not long after that the group disbanded. They would meet up again the next day, with the entirety of their AUM 'family', in order to get everything planned out for this mission to rescue Steve. They bid each other good night and went to their rooms – Jill had of course suggested that she and Albert share a room, and he had agreed readily. Jill went to take a shower to wash away the day's traveling grit, while Albert simply changed clothes and dropped onto the bed.

"Tired?" Jill asked wryly when she emerged from the bathroom to see her lover splayed out on the bed with one arm draped across his eyes.

"You have no idea," he muttered.

She finished pulling on clothes and crawled into bed next to him. He was taking up most of the space, but she didn't protest, since it gave her an excuse to cuddle up against him. They were quiet for a while, until Jill spoke up. "Do you realize how much you've done, not just for the movement but for our group personally, in the short time you've been here?" She asked.

"I eased their minds about Sherry and Steve – and I know Claire wasn't the only one concerned about them – and I dropped a probable goldmine of valuable information right into their laps, all in the space of a few hours." He snorted. "I just hope they don't start to expect things like that from me all the time. I don't want the effort I put into making sure I'm accepted into the group to backfire."

Jill lifted her head slightly the better to look into his face. "You didn't have to do all that just to be accepted, Albert. Chris, Barry and I have vouched for you, we're glad you decided to join. More than glad, really."

He opened one eye. "I knew the three of you would do that, but the others who don't know me as well would be harder to convince. Especially the former Umbrella employees, because anyone who works for them ends up developing a healthy suspicion for other employees. You never know when you'll be backstabbed in companies like that. I have to make a positive impression from the start to earn these peoples' trust."

Thoughtfully, Jill lowered her head again to rest her chin on his chest. What he said made sense, and he had a point – the few members of their group who used to work for Umbrella were rather suspicious. They had every right to be suspicious of him given his past record. "I'll give you that. And either way, whether it works how you want it to, you very effectively brought Claire over to your side. Leon too, probably. You've got the five of us as advocates in case the others aren't convinced, and between us we're pretty much the leaders."

"And among the five of you, Chris is usually the one to take the reins," Albert added. He didn't need to ask, he knew the former marksman well enough to make that assumption.

"Yeah. I have a feeling, though, that now that you're here that you'll end up saddled with that role, like it or not. Barry, Chris and I are used to taking order from you, and I'm sure Claire and Leon will follow our example," Jill remarked, smiling slightly.

He sighed. "I suppose I'll just have to deal with it. All I ask is that you don't start calling me Captain again."

She laughed. "No promises."

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**Okay, so I lied about that not updating thing. I wrote this in the space of a night, though why I haven't slept I dunno. Probably it's pre-exam jitters. Well, now I'm gonna sleep for the remaining hour I have until I have to be up.**


	11. Rescue

**While Melpomene is on her binge I'm writing as much as I can. So whee for updates! I don't think I'll break that record I set the other day/night/morning again for this fic, but oh well. It's nice to know that my Muse still has it in her to turn out a chapter in a matter of hours – oh, I remember the days of **_**Delightful Impossibility**_** when I threw out a chapter a day for nearly three weeks. -sighs nostalgically-**

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All in all there were approximately two dozen people in their group. Four or five of them had once been on Umbrella's payroll – the presence of some former U.B.C.S. and U.S.S. operatives was actually comforting to Albert, since he knew the level of training Umbrella gave its soldiers. The others had been low-level researchers who'd gotten on the wrong end of a suspicious or avaricious superior. The group was to a man rather wary of the new addition at first – here was someone who'd been elbow-deep in Umbrella's bioweapons program, after all. Wesker had retold his story – from beginning to end, including some of the details he'd omitted when explaining to S.T.A.R.S. just after the Mansion incident – to the whole group of them, just so everyone would be on the same page. As Jill had predicted, the other three former S.T.A.R.S., Claire and Leon all helped to defend Albert when some of their teammates got too suspicious. In the end, they decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and the chance to prove himself – there were still a few who would have preferred sending the tyrant on his way, but those dissenters bowed to the majority. Jill was rather disappointed about that, but Albert wasn't surprised.

"There may be other former Umbrella employees here, but none of them were in nearly as deep as I was. My record isn't exactly stellar – besides everything I did as one of the head researchers for the Tyrant project, there is the fact that William and I had Dr. Marcus assassinated. I don't blame them for not trusting me, especially since I turned right back around and essentially screwed over the Organization as well not too long ago. If I'm capable of and inclined to do that to them, what's to say I won't do it again?" He shrugged. "It was easy for them to accept you, Barry and Chris and even submit to your leadership, but you three have far more altruistic past histories than I do."

Since he had a very good point, Jill let it slide. Together, they entered the room where the others were preparing for the mission to get Steve, and set to gearing up. The whole group wasn't going – too many people would only run the risk of bungling up – besides the core of Chris, Jill, Barry, Albert, Claire, and Leon, there were four more in attendance. Among those four were three of the ones who had been the most vocal in their mistrust of Wesker – Albert himself had suggested that they be included, going by the logic that they would come to trust him faster if they could keep an eye on him on missions and see him in action.

Chris looked around as the last two participants in the mission finished gearing up. "All right, guys. We ready?" There was a general chorus of assent, most strongly from Claire's direction. Chris looked to Albert. "Lead on." Since he knew where the lab was and generally how to navigate within it, Albert had been made the team leader for this raid. The tyrant nodded firmly, and they departed.

Everyone had already been brought up to date with everything that they needed to know for this raid: the general layout of a typical Organization research lab, the kind of resistance they would likely meet, the nature of the viral agents they might encounter. Since no one wanted to turn this into an outbreak they had to be especially careful. And once they got Steve out – if they could – they would have to look out for him, which gave them another handicap. That just meant they had to be clever about it – and the ones who knew just how crafty Wesker could be were confident in the mission. The others less so, and understandably, for they were unused to Albert's style of leading.

"Everyone remembers what to do?" Wesker checked as their helicopter hoved in to land some distance from the base they were about to attack. When he got nods all around, a faint smirk appeared on his lips. "Well then, off we go!" He wasn't one to mince words or waste his breath going back over the game plan. He expected his men to know what they were doing, and he knew that at the level of competency these people were, they didn't need to be babysat. The group smoothly disembarked from the chopper and spread out into a line to advance on the lab. Communication through the radios was kept short and sweet, and as they came closer, it was reduced to hand signals. When they had the beginning of the facility in sight Wesker called a halt, and corralled the whole group back in around him.

"Someone pull out binoculars," he said over his shoulder, peering intently into the distance, "and correct me if I'm wrong. Getting past the fence should be simple enough, you all know the drill. Now, the cameras on the outside of this face of the building cover most of it, but there's one place about halfway along that's left open for a short period of time as the cameras swivel. You lot can slip in through that gap and squeeze along the wall until you get to that side door at the far corner. By the time the first of you reach it I'll have gotten the door open one way or another and we can get inside."

Chris, having been gazing through binoculars, concurred with the tyrant's description of the geography around the lab. "Got it. How will you get to the door before us to open it?"

"By running, of course," Albert replied wryly. "As fast as I move, it won't matter if I cross the cameras' path. They're motion-sensitive but they're not high-speed, so I'll be invisible to them. You worry about avoiding detection and I'll open that door for you." More than one person in the group scoffed and most were rather skeptical, but Chris and Jill, having seen first-hand how fast he could move, were confident enough that no one protested.

Barring their path was a high chain-link fence with barbed wire strung across the top. Wesker walked up boldly and touched the metal before anyone could stop him. For a moment his knees buckled and he staggered backward a pace, but quickly recovered and stood there shaking his hand. "That was a stronger voltage than I expected," he commented absently. "Looks like we'll have to get past this the hard way."

"Why did you do that?" Claire asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"The standard charge they put on these fences wouldn't be enough to knock me down. I was just checking to see if they increased the voltage – if they did, then that probably means security farther in has been heightened. Since that's nearly enough to temporarily stun a human, we need to be more on alert once we get in, because the place will likely be crawling with guards. Now, let's continue before we're spotted." Albert gestured toward the tower they could see a short distance away.

They jogged along the fence until they reached the guard tower, where Chris and an ex-U.S.S. named James picked off the guards standing inside. After that, Jill and the group's tech-savvy operative Sebastian scaled the tower and found a way to cut the voltage to one stretch of the fence so they could get in. After that it was simple to cut away some of the chain links and slip inside.

"All right, I'm going on ahead to get the door. Be careful," Albert stated.

"Careful yourself, don't get spotted," Chris answered wryly.

The tyrant smirked confidently. "Oh, I won't." He turned briskly on his heel and, to the amazement of the ones in the group who hadn't seen him show off, disappeared from sight with only a rush of air to mark his passage.

"Now you see me, now you don't," Jill muttered to herself. "C'mon, guys, enough gawking. Let's move!" The group advanced carefully over the open ground between the fence and the building, having to freeze in place and take cover in the brush whenever the camera swept over their position. Eventually they got up against the wall and from there trotted along in single file until they reached the door. True to his word, Albert had indeed gotten it open, though he was nowhere to be seen.

Jill inspected the door curiously, wondering how her lover had managed not to set off any alarms. It appeared as though he'd jammed the lock in place, then simply kicked the door in – the bolts remained caught in their slots so that the sensors were fooled into thinking that the door was still closed. Abruptly Albert poked his head around the corner and waved to them. "Come on, people! We're working under a time limit here," he urged. "I'm sure there are cameras all over the place and it's only a matter of time until we're spotted. I've cleared our path for the next good bit so we can move fast."

The group moved at a brisk jog through the halls of the lab, occasionally passing by pairs of dead guards propped up against the wall to fool the cameras. Claire wasn't the only one to note that these guards hadn't been killed with bullets, but by having their necks broken, as their heads were craned at unnatural angles. James traded looks with Sebastian and the others warily. Soon, though, they got past the stretch that Wesker had cleared, so their pace slowed to a cautious trot.

A curt hand signal from Albert passed the message along that there were living guards ahead – he was the only one who could hear them around the corner. This time, he let the rest of the team move forward to dispatch these two. His method was cleaner and more subtle, but he knew that even in a situation like this, it would annoy some of them for him to never give them a chance – since they were going to be noticed eventually, he let them have a turn. Keeping the peace in the group was important and he didn't want anyone resenting him because of a bruised ego – the problems that would pose when he was trying to lead them would make for stupid mistakes that could easily be avoided.

Miraculously, they made it nearly to the lab where Steve was being held before any serious resistance was met. Suddenly, all around them alarms blazed to life: the timer was officially started. At that point they threw any pretense of secrecy to the wind and went into high gear. Things got confusing then as groups of guards closed in on them in waves, but they made it through two of those before reaching Steve's cell. Albert unceremoniously kicked in the door and burst in, pushed from behind by the others, who were guarding their rear from another wave of enemies.

"Steve!" Claire cried, running up to the glass observation window. The young man was curled up in the corner of the room with his hands over his head – presumably trying to protect his hypersensitive hearing from the shrill alarms. He stiffened when Claire's voice came through the glass and turned over in a movement so fast it was blurry to everyone but Albert.

Steve's now-crimson eyes widened comically. "C-Claire?" he asked incredulously. "Claire!" He lurched upright and went up to the glass. "How did you guys–"

Wesker yanked the door to the cell open and poked his head inside. "Save the questions for later, Burnside, we need to move. Are you coming?" There was no time for pleasantries, as they had already lost one AUM operative to enemy fire.

Steve scrambled out of the cell as if pursued. "I'm coming, I'm coming! You're gonna have to explain later, though, doc."

Claire latched onto her friend's arm. "We will once we get out, Steve. Are you all right?" She looked him up and down, concerned. He looked fairly healthy and completely normal besides his eyes. She did notice that his skin was hot to the touch, but since she knew why Wesker's body was warmer than usual, she assumed it was the same sort of thing.

"Just peachy, Claire," the young tyrant answered ironically. That was the last of the conversation, though, for they emerged from the relative safety of the room and into the hallway, where yet another wave of guards was closing in. At that point, the group turned into a machine: keeping Claire and Steve in the middle, they advanced quickly through the facility toward an exit.

However, soon they reached a barrier: a large delegation of guards stood blocking their path, and in front of them stood a figure familiar to three of the AUM. "I wonder why they were so surprised," drawled the stranger wryly. He was fairly average in appearance – nothing special, but the superior tone of his voice was quite ominous enough for their already tightened nerves. Steve cringed slightly and grabbed Claire's shoulder, eyeing the man with fear in his expression. "After that show you two Redfields put on in Rockfort, they should've known this would happen. Though I am surprised that _you're_ here, Dr. Wesker." The man smirked at Wesker. "I didn't expect you to team up with a rabble like this after leaving us so suddenly. What gives?"

Albert growled under his breath. "That is my business, Nathaniel."

"Of course," Nathan scoffed. "You would say that. Always tight-lipped, uptight and arrogant, even after so many years. I really don't know how Dr. Marcus tolerated your attitude." Bitterness laced his tone.

"Maybe because I contributed something useful to his work – unlike you," Albert bit back, smirking at the man.

Nathan bristled. "Hah! You and Birkin weren't _useful_, you were spoiled children! You got to where you did because of Lord Spencer – you always were his little pet," he sneered.

Wesker had quickly tired of trading insults with this irritating man, so instead of replying verbally, he dashed right up to Nathan, wrapped a hand around his throat, and pressed the muzzle of his magnum to the older man's temple. "That's quite enough of that, thank you," he said – his voice was chillingly calm, face expressionless as he gripped Nathan's throat nearly tight enough to choke. The guards behind Nathan all trained their weapons at him, and he smirked again. "Well, Dr. Young? Who do you think will be faster on the draw here, them or me?"

Nathan left off clawing desperately at the constricting grip around his neck. "Stand down!" he hissed at the guards. "For the love of God put your weapons down! Do it!" Slowly, the guards lowered their aim to the floor and removed their hands from the triggers.

Wesker still wore the same cruel smirk as he increased the pressure on Nathan's throat. "Good job. Now, we can't just stand here all day – we're all busy people. So what do you say that we part ways here? My men and I will go our way and you can go yours." He tilted his head so that Nathan could see over the shades into his eyes, while a wicked grin widened the smirk on his face. "And do be a good boy and don't try anything funny. We wouldn't want anyone to get hurt."

Nathan gurgled breathlessly and nodded. Albert looked to the rest of his group, who had already started backing up while the guards' aim had dropped. Once they were all around the corner, he released Nathan and sprinted after them in one fluid movement. When they saw him come out of the dash and urge them on the others broke into a run, and just in time for Nathan to wheeze indignantly at the guards to pursue them.

Since their original escape route was no longer an option, they had to rely on Wesker to direct them out – he had taken the liberty of memorizing the facility's floor plan just in case something like this happened. They ended up having to backtrack to nearly the same place they had found Steve, and were forced to duck into a nearby room to avoid a hail of gunfire. Albert looked around and cursed under his breath. "Careful everyone, this is a viral lab. Try avoiding the glassware – that's the fastest way to get infected." Only Jill noticed when he unconsciously grasped his left wrist.

"In here, idiots! They've backed themselves into a corner!" Nathan hissed, and Albert listened as his voice and several others closed in. He quickly decided that Nathan needed to die – not only was he a highly annoying pest who knew far too much for comfort now about him, but he was one of the authorities in this facility. Get rid of him and the resistance would become disorganized and melt away. Nathan burst into the room with a squad of guards, wielding his own firearm.

"Down!" Albert barked, and they all dropped to the floor just in time for the guards to rake the room with bullets. Only Albert himself stayed up – only one or two bullets grazed him, for he moved too fast for the guards to keep track of him as he wove through them to get to Nathan. He grabbed the older man and threw him across the room, where Nathan landed on some of the shattered glassware and shrieked from the pain.

By then the other AUM operatives had picked themselves up and were returning fire on the guards – between them and Wesker, who was picking them off by hand with ruthless efficiency, the small group was decimated quickly. A guttural roar drew their attention to the rear of the room.

"Steve!" Claire called, but Chris pulled her back before she could run up to her friend. The young tyrant had lost what control he had when Nathan went down, and so had slipped out from among the AUM while they were distracted and gone to settle the score with his tormentor. Steve bashed Nathan's skull in savagely, a feral look in his eyes , and was leaning in to do more when Albert came up behind him and pinned Steve's arms behind his back.

"Snap out of it," he hissed. "Steven Burnside, I know you can hear me. Get a hold of yourself! I don't want to knock you out, but I will if I need to. Steve Burnside!" He struggled to restrain the younger tyrant, but within a few seconds Steve came to his senses and practically went limp. Claire came running up and helped to support the distressed young man.

Albert heard more guards coming and swore under his breath. They were endless! "Pull yourselves together, people, we need to get a move on. Let's go!" He lingered as the others filed out, then followed them out of the room and down the hall. The guards pursued. Gunshots rang continuously in their ears – they'd lost another and a few of them sported minor wounds, which was frankly miraculous considering their circumstances – and as a stray bullet ripped through Albert's skull, he went down to add to the casualty count. Jill bit her lip and pushed on with the others, telling herself over and over that he'd be all right. He'd cheated death once, he could do it again. She'd seen him heal. Chris took up the lead after that, and though they'd lost their navigator, they managed to make progress toward the exit. Suddenly a new warning klaxon sounded.

"The self-destruct?" Sebastian said incredulously, to no one in particular.

"Shit! Let's move it, people!" Chris urged.

"Where did that come from?" Leon wondered aloud.

Jill was now smiling in evident relief. "You'll see shortly, I think, as long as we get out of here in time!"

Finally, they slipped out of the building and broke into a run to get away from the building. Chris and Jill called a halt a safe distance away so they could catch their breath and wait up.

"Wait for who?" James demanded, slightly breathless from their desperate sprint.

"Albert, of course," Jill answered. "Who do you think set off the self-destruct?"

"He got shot in the head!"

"He's infected," Steve interjected wearily. "One bullet's not enough to take him down even if it was to the face."

James looked rather skeptical. "I've seen it on a number of occasions," Jill assured him. "Trust me, James, he'll show up here looking like he was never hurt in the first place."

The ex-U.S.S. shrugged. "Whatever. I'll believe it when I see it." Just then, a massive explosion rocked the ground under their feet, and the shockwave made them stagger. As the ringing in their ears stopped and the dust settled, James looked around skeptically. "Well, if he didn't get out before, he's certainly not getting out now!"

"Who are we talking about?"

Jill turned to smile at her lover, who had appeared out of nowhere just behind her. "You need to work on that habit of sneaking up on people, Albert. That would've scared me out of my wits if I wasn't so used to it."

James watched warily as Albert chuckled and ran a hand over his head. His shades were gone and there was more blood in his hair, which was ruffled out of its usual place, but otherwise he looked completely unharmed. "I'll try."

Chris finished his conversation with their pilot over the ear-piece and waved to get everyone's attention. "Our ride out of here is waiting, guys, so let's go."

As they walked, Albert glanced over and noticed that Steve was shivering slightly – it was still quite cold, being December, and Steve had nothing on but scrubs. So Wesker pulled off his heavy jacket and handed it over to the younger tyrant. Under it he had a lighter jacket that worked fine to keep him insulated so that he didn't get cold, so he wouldn't suffer from lending Steve his coat. Jill had noticed the multiple layers earlier and wondered, but now it made sense. Steve accepted the coat gratefully and pulled it tight about himself to ward off the cold.

They all piled into the chopper and were off. Steve watched the smoldering ruins of the lab disappear into the distance, then he turned to where Albert sat next to Jill. "Hey, doc?"

"Yes?"

Steve looked down at his borrowed coat awkwardly. "Thanks. I didn't think you'd come."

A faint smile came to the older tyrant's lips. "I told you I would, didn't I?"

"After a few months I wasn't so sure."

Wesker sighed slightly. "I am sorry it took so long, but there were a few things I needed to do before I was in a position to do anything."

Steve nodded in understanding. He was too grateful to have been rescued to argue much right then. He just leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, soaking in the freedom.

"Who was that Nathaniel guy, by the way?" Sebastian inquired, gazing intently at Wesker. "He said something about Marcus – you knew him in Umbrella?"

A grimace flashed across Albert's face – but since everyone else appeared to be curious about the very same thing, he sat up straight to explain. "Dr. Young was a researcher under Dr. Marcus for a number of years before William and I showed up, and when we did he evidently felt like we usurped his position. In reality Marcus was reluctant to work with us at first – the man was paranoid that someone would try to steal his research – but he eventually warmed up to us. He trusted no one else in the company and that irked Nathan to no end. When Dr. Marcus was assassinated Nathan also disappeared – I hadn't known where he'd gone until I joined the Organization and ran into him." A sigh escaped his lips. "After he found out where I was, he's been nothing but an annoyance. He couldn't do much to my position in the Organization since I was so valuable to them, but he could and did make himself a nuisance frequently."

"We saw him on Rockfort –he was the one leading the Organization's task force… since you didn't?" Chris asked, frowning. He'd gotten bad vibes from that guy since encountering him the year previous and that hadn't changed a bit.

"Apparently – I didn't keep up with the details of that mission after declining it until the report came in." Albert shrugged. "From the way he said your name I'd say he decided to hold a grudge against you as well, Chris. He's probably dead now, though, so hopefully that won't be a concern any more. I for one will be glad to have that man out of my hair."

"What did he mean with that 'you were always his little pet' remark?" asked James. That had been bugging him since the words had left Nathan's lips.

"Ah yes," Albert sighed. "That's a slightly longer story. I'm sure all of you are wondering how I managed to go for several years after quitting my job as a head researcher without being harassed by Umbrella, and the answer is that I have a friend in a very high place – Lord Ozwell Spencer himself." Everyone eyed him incredulously. "My parents worked very closely with Spencer, Marcus and Dr. Ashford when Umbrella was first starting out, and became favored personages within the corporation as it grew. Thanks to that, Spencer has always looked on me with favor – when my parents died he saw to it that I was taken care of and he funded my education. That's the main reason I started with Umbrella in the first place, and how I climbed in the ranks so fast. It wasn't entirely due to my own skill, though I know for a fact that if I hadn't shown an aptitude for my vocation Spencer would have lost interest in me." He shook his head. "So when I finally got sick of being a researcher, in order to avoid the usual hassles that plague people in the same position, I sucked up to him. He didn't want me to leave the corporation, so he had me transferred to the intelligence division and set me up with a job in the R.P.D., and the rest is history." He had already explained to the ex-S.T.A.R.S. how there were Umbrella operatives throughout the R.P.D., and told the AUM as a whole that he'd technically been on their payroll for a number of years – up until the formation of S.T.A.R.S..

"If Spencer likes you so much, why was Irons such an ass to you all the time?" Barry asked, remembering how the police chief often went out of his way to be unpleasant. "Wasn't he an employee too?"

Albert shook his head slightly. "Jealousy is a powerful motivator, especially in an institution like Umbrella. I had few fans anywhere in that company because of my standing and my connections. That was one of the reasons I wanted to wash my hands of it – but Spencer wouldn't tolerate my leaving. He always a possessive old man. My parents' deaths irked him because he lost two of his favorite employees, so he's been almost stalkerish with me since then." The tyrant stared unseeingly at the floor and became lost in thought. He wondered how Spencer would react to learning that he'd gone AWOL – it wouldn't take long for word to reach him that his 'pet' Albert had switched sides. He was sure that the old man would have been livid enough to learn that he'd 'died'.

"That sounds like fun," Claire remarked sarcastically, one eyebrow raised.

He snorted. "You have no idea."

The others were quiet and digested this newest revelation individually. Wesker was like an onion – peel back layer after layer until you think you've found the core, but there's always one more beneath that. Sebastian and James exchanged solemn looks. How far could they trust someone with a connection like that to Umbella's very overlord? Even the ex-S.T.A.R.S. were taken slightly aback. It explained a lot, but it didn't make them feel any better. Jill, though, remained confident in her lover's intentions. She knew that he wouldn't knowingly do anything to endanger them, and she trusted him like she trusted few others. Yes, she was surprised and a little concerned, and she knew she'd have to get the honest-to-God full story out of him sometime soon if she was to maintain such a high level of confidence in him, but she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He hadn't done anything but help them for several years – his only crime was withholding information. Information that would get him into a lot of trouble if it was spread around, too, so he had good reasons to keep it to himself.

The rest of the ride back to their hideout passed uneventfully. Conversation was sporadic except for when Steve spoke up again to ask how they'd known where to find him, which led to Claire asking gently about what he'd experienced in the care of the Organization. Predictably, Steve grimaced and avoided the question – she dropped the subject in understanding. When he was ready he'd talk about it, but not before. They landed, and to a man the whole group was glad to be back. They were greeted by the ones who had stayed behind, who carted off the injured to tend their wounds while Claire took it on herself to escort Steve to his new room. The rest of them scattered to their respective rooms to unwind – later, they would gather the entirely of their group and debrief so that everyone was on the same page. But for now, the weary fighters would get their chance to clean up and relax for a while before that meeting.

After taking turns in the shower, Albert and Jill both retired to the bed for a siesta. Neither of them was tired enough to sleep, so they ended up just laying there in companionable quiet. Jill idly ran her fingers over the uneven scar that lingered on Albert's abdomen from the blow that had ended his human life. Curiously, she glanced up at him. "If all your wounds close up so fast now, Albert, why do you still have this scar?"

He shrugged slightly. "That's probably because I received it before the virus fully kicked in. The virus was amplifying through my whole body and restarting everything that had been shut down at the same time as it was trying to heal that wound, so it obviously wasn't at its most efficient at the time. The place where I was cut to get infected in the first place is still scarred as well." He lifted his left arm and turned it over so she could see the thin lines tracing across the heel of his hand and wrist. "It makes me look like I self-mutilate, but oh well."

She chuckled lightly at that thought. "I don't think anyone will really notice."

"I hope they don't. People will already think I'm a little unstable anyway, after the way I was acting during that raid." He grimaced. "I'd hoped not to have to confront Nathaniel, since I had a feeling something like that would happen."

"You mean how you were during that standoff?" Jill asked, remembering how menacing and uncharacteristically intense he'd behaved. "I remember you being like that once or twice in Raccoon. Does that have to do with the virus too?"

"Yes, unfortunately. I may be able to still think and feel like a human does, but aggression is a characteristic of all Progenitor-based viruses and the one I've got is no exception. I've learned how to control it so I'm not likely to completely lose control unless something really significant happens, but more mild episodes still occur." Albert sighed. "When the whole AUM meets again to debrief I'll make mention of that – it's serious enough that everyone should know, just so they are aware of my 'mood swings'. I just hope they won't find it too hard to trust me with that and what they learned about my ties to Lord Spencer."

Soothingly, Jill stroked her fingers across his collarbone. "I know Jim and Sebastian will be the ringleaders of the ones who don't want you to stay, but you've got the rest of our little group backing you. Though, you do have a lot of explaining to do to everyone about that Spencer thing."

The tyrant pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. "Oh believe me, I know. I was hoping that would never come up, but it was a vain hope on my part. It's not something I should've tried to keep from you. I know for a fact that the old man will be absolutely livid and I will be permanently on his blacklist once word reaches him about my new affiliations, but I doubt that will change much for the AUM as a whole. It just means that I had better not show my face anywhere near him or his right-hand man Sergei unless I have a deathwish – at least until Umbrella's power has disintegrated further." But when the time came that Umbrella finally fell, he had a feeling in his gut that he would be there to usher it out, and he would gladly do so.

* * *

**So yeah, I was having a bit of trouble figuring out how to wrap this chapter up, you can tell. But I did it. So since I have not slept in far too long and I still have this damn head cold, this chapter will just have to end right here, because I lack the energy to finish it any more smoothly.**


	12. Author's Note: Well Hot Damn!

**There you go, peeps. That's the end of the section of What If about RE3 and thereabouts. Next comes the section revolving in and around RE5, and by God am I looking forward to it. =D This section will be longer than the other two, and it will showcase the events of the game in much more detail. There will also be much more in the before/after department, and I will say that the first chapter will be mostly just fluff and filling in all the details of stuff that happens between 1999 and 2006. I hope you readers have had as much fun so far as I have, and I sincerely hope you like this next part as much as I will enjoy writing it.**

**Just so you know, there may be a sequel. Possibly. It depends a lot on the other two WIPs I have on the boil; how long they take, where they go, etc. So leave a review for crying out loud! Reviews boost my Muse's and my enthusiasm for a fic, so if you want more updates faster, give me feedback! **


	13. Some Other Beginning's End

**And here begins the third and last section of **_**What If**_**! This chapter and possibly the next will mostly be fluff and explanations of what happens between 1999 and the beginning of the RE5 scenario in 2006.**

**I know I said a while ago I wouldn't do anything from Umbrella Chronicles, but since the Umbrella's End/Dark Legacy scenarios are pretty significant to the series/ plot, I reconsidered. It's not much: just a quick flashback. But it's something. The flashback is denoted by asterisks.**

**There will be more than just that one flashback, since I've had a few people express a desire to know more about the very beginning of Wesker's relationship with Jill; I kinda threw you guys into it when they had been going steady for a while. I do listen to you, reviewers: my plan for this plot is quite flexible, so if you want to see something in here, try asking. I may not reply to every review that comes in, but I will answer questions and comments that are more than just "wow, I liked this chapter!"**

**And if anyone recognizes the song from whose lyrics the title comes and/or the artist who wrote it, I will be proud.  
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"_According to the latest report, Umbrella has been found guilty on all charges of crime related to the Raccoon city incident five years ago. The prosecution has remained quiet on how they acquired proof of Umbrella's involvement, and the defense plans to appeal the decision on the grounds that the evidence is not admissible in court. The Russian Ministry of the Interior has agreed to cooperate with the FBI in finding the whereabouts of Ozwell E. Spencer. Mr. Spencer has been determined to have played a large part in the biohazard that contaminated Raccoon city – an anonymous witness close to the suspect was invaluable in providing evidence about Mr. Spencer's involvement." _The litany continued on, but the group of people clustered about the radio tuned out the rest of the daily news once the message they wanted to hear was finished.

"An anonymous witness, huh?" Sebastian remarked, grinning wolfishly at Wesker, who was sitting back in his chair with a very satisfied expression on his face. The tyrant shrugged slyly, and Sebastian chuckled. "Nicely done. Now all we need to do is hope that appeal doesn't work."

"The corporation has been foundering since 1998. Their last base has been destroyed , their mainframe wiped and most of their leaders killed or in hiding; now with all this legal pressure, even if that appeal does work, I think we're witnessing the end of Umbrella Chemical Inc.," stated Albert with conviction. "The only thing we have left to worry about is Spencer. I doubt he'll be able to do much more than go to ground, but I for one will not be able to completely rest easy until he's found."

Jill put a hand on his shoulder. "He won't be able to stay hidden forever, Albert. With luck, the manhunt will involve authorities all over the world, and with that many people looking for him, he'll be found. I don't care how clever he is; with enough people looking he'll be spotted sooner or later."

"Damn straight," Chris added firmly. "And I hope one of us is there to see it when he is." A murmur of agreement rippled through the group, most emphatically from Albert.

"Until that day comes, I'd say we all could use a break," remarked Barry. "We don't have much left to do now that the world governments are essentially doing our job for us, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who's ready to take it easy for a while." Everyone nodded in understanding. As one of the oldest AUM members, Barry was more than entitled to be weary. He hadn't seen his family in months: it had been over three years since he'd left them in Canada to join the AUM. The rest of them, though they didn't have spouses and offspring to worry about, were just as eager to have a break. Jill's hand found its way over to Albert's, where their fingers meshed.

"You aren't," Steve agreed. "I've had about enough of this shit to last me a lifetime." It hadn't come as a surprise to anyone when, after recovering from his harrowing experience at the hands of the Organization, Steve joined the AUM as a working operative. His skills as a tyrant like Albert were invaluable: he was just as strong as the older tyrant and even slightly faster, along with having the advantage of flammable blood. He had also learned over time to control his mutating, so he could voluntarily let the virus change his appearance. It had taken a good bit of practice to fine-tune his control to where he could regulate how much he mutated, but after months of work it came naturally to him.

Steve's addition to their group was especially serendipitous considering the nature of their movement's activities. They would regularly lose members, whether by death during missions or just by them leaving. James the ex-U.S.S. who had been on the mission to rescue Steve for one – he had been very uneasy about having not one but two B.O.W. working with them, so he had left. Leon had left them as well, but for a different reason: the U.S. government had lured him into getting a job with them. The rest of the AUM's founding core stayed firm and continued to lead, and as time went on the others grew accustomed to having the two tyrants in their midst, and even came to trust them. As Jill had predicted, Albert ended up becoming the unofficial leader of the group: it was inevitable, really.

Of course, relations within the group weren't always perfect. There were always arguments and fights – with the amount of tension they were all under so frequently, snapping tempers and sharp tongues were inescapable. Overall, the group as a whole was tight-knit and they had come to be close to one another, but with so many different personalities working together so closely and around one another so much, friction was bound to come up. However, in the end they were held together by their common mission: to rid the world of Umbrella's tyrannical rule. That had been one of the things that held their group together for four years.

That mutual goal wasn't enough to stop internal quarrels, however, and it got worse the more personal they got. There had been a point where even Jill and Albert found themselves at odds. Much to the concern of the others, they had separated for several months and Albert had moved into a room of his own. No one was quite sure what had sparked the falling out as their arguments were often not the kind with raised voices that everyone within a wide radius could hear; they just knew that tension had been building for some time between the two lovers, and when it finally came to a head, Wesker stormed out of the room looking murderous and Jill soon showed up at Chris' door on the verge of tears. Albert kept to himself for the next day until his temper was under control – he didn't want to run the risk of hurting someone just because he'd had his feathers ruffled – and for a week or so after that, both of them were in rather dismal moods.

Chris tried to mediate the spat since he was the one closest to both of the estranged lovers, but although they both gratefully took advantage of the sympathetic ear he lent, he never got the full story of what the problem was. That wasn't surprising from Albert's end, given his rather stoic personality, but Chris couldn't even get Jill to explain what was wrong. She just told him they'd either work it out or stay apart.

Chris was afraid that between Jill's stubborn streak and Albert's pride they'd never get back together, which meant ill for the group as a whole if two of their core members remained at odds. They both made themselves get along when it came to AUM business, but it was plain to everyone that they still hadn't worked out whatever the problem was.

Eventually, though, they worked it out. Wesker was the first to cave and went to Jill with an apology on his lips – everyone was surprised, having expected him to hold out longer, given the aloof stoicism he was known for. It just went to show that even Albert could swallow his pride and bite the bullet, and soon after that he moved back with Jill and all seemed to have been worked out. That happened not long before he, Jill and Chris went to Russia to investigate rumors of Umbrella's latest and greatest project: T-A.L.O.S..

***

"I really hope this new bioweapon is just a rumor," Jill stated to her compatriots as the trio prepared to abseil off the helicopter.

"We'll just take out whatever they throw at us!" Chris replied firmly before pushing off. Albert held his peace – of the three of them, he knew slightly better what they might find. Here in the heart of Russia, at one of the only remaining bases Umbrella had, the last of Spencer's loyal employees would fight like cornered rats.

They penetrated into the edifice and worked their way down into the facility itself, but they were soon stopped. Gunshots _pinged_ off the metal flooring in front of them and all three skidded to a halt as a lone figure emerged from the shadows to face them. "Comrade Wesker," Sergei greeted, gazing calmly at the trio of invaders despite the having the muzzles of their weapons aimed straight for his head. "Welcome to my humble abode – how nice of you to have brought some friends."

"I see you're still resolved to go down with the ship, Colonel," he replied evenly. He'd already told Jill and Chris that Sergei would probably be there and what was bound to happen when Spencer's right-hand man saw him there, so the other ex-S.T.A.R.S. were unfazed by this exchange.

"Umbrella's not going anywhere. All of the pain, the punishment, and the difficulties helped to make Umbrella stronger! It's a shame you couldn't understand." Sergei seemed to be ignoring the other two AUM, but before Chris or Jill could try to ease themselves away, two hulking figures emerged from behind Sergei. Wesker's jaw tightened in recognition of the Ivans. The two Tyrants began circling Chris, Jill and Albert slowly as Sergei continued. "Oh, I almost forgot – where are my manners! Here are a few of my old friends I'd like to introduce you to." Jill and Chris kept a wary eye on the two very humanoid-looking Tyrants while Albert kept his gaze on Sergei, who turned his back and began to walk away. "Russia is such a peaceful place, don't you agree? A perfect place for your final resting spot."

The two Ivans attacked as soon as their master was out of sight. It was clear from the very start of the battle that their main target was Wesker – they only brushed the two humans aside if they got in the way. Albert noticed this and used the confusion of battle to his advantage to slip away. The Ivans followed him, leaving Chris and Jill unmolested. They called for him over their ear-pieces, concerned, so he momentarily lost his attackers to respond.

"Look, it'll be better if we split up. Sergei has as much of a grudge against me as Spencer does so he'll focus more on me – that gives you two a chance to deal with T-A.L.O.S.. Leave me to distract him, I've got a plan of my own. Destroying their last bioweapons will only go so far as long as he still has the computer intact, so once I shake Ivan that's what I'm going to do," he explained quickly, half his attention on scanning his surroundings to make sure nothing snuck up on him.

"Are you nuts, Albert, trying to go it alone?" Chris demanded incredulously.

"Remember what I can do, Christopher, don't question me! You'll have your hands full with T-A.L.O.S. when you get to it and whatever B.O.W. you come across on the way – we already know Sergei set off an outbreak down here to slow us down. It'll be too much trouble to catch back up with each other while we've still got Sergei at the controls. I can move faster on my own and it'll be harder for him to keep track of us moving separately. Just do as I say, Chris."

The terse quality of the tyrant's voice warned the two humans not to press the issue – Wesker was going to do what he wanted to do no matter what they thought, and in the end didn't most of those scenarios work out in his favor? So, albeit grudgingly, Jill and Chris submitted to Albert's plan and pushed on without him to find and destroy T-A.L.O.S..

Albert himself went into high gear and, after finally getting rid of Ivan, worked his way through the base toward the heart of operations at a pace he could only set because he was alone. He'd spoken truly when he told the other two that he could move faster – although it was nice to have someone watching his back, if speed was of the essence he preferred to work alone so he wasn't confined to going at a human's pace. Soon he found Sergei, and eased himself into the control room at the same time as his companions finally confronted Umbrella's last and greatest B.O.W..

"Code-name T-A.L.O.S.: a pinnacle of biological weaponry, all controlled by the Red Queen computer. The ultimate weapon," Sergei stated with pride as he watched Jill and Chris face the hulking B.O.W. on the screen. Albert approached the Russian, magnum drawn; Sergei turned to face him. "You got Ivan? Not bad, comrade."

Wesker looked over his shoulder at the Red Queen. "So this is it," he commented.

"Yes. She was activated that night at the mansion. I extracted her before Raccoon city became nothing more than a memory." Sergei looked to the camera lens that was the Red Queen's eye with an almost fond expression. "She and I have a lot in common. She linked with T-A.L.O.S., desiring more information and more data. She wanted to know the truth, no matter how painful that reality may be."

Albert was still riding the adrenaline-high from combat and was hardly in the mood to hear Sergei prattle on about the supercomputer. "That thing is merely a tool, what it wants is something the user determines for it," he corrected. His face was expressionless, but his voice held a sneer. Sergei seemed unaffected by the younger man's scorn.

"It's good that we can be honest with each other – that's the sign of a healthy relationship. It's a shame that this friendship has to end," the Russian remarked, and though Albert knew it was feigned, there was a hint of remorse in his expression just before it morphed into a grimace of pain.

Albert stood firm as Sergei's body erupted with random spurts of blood and mutated into one of the more disfigured, and yet oddly still human-shaped tyrants he'd ever seen. This was why he'd wanted to go his own way: he'd had a sneaking suspicion that Sergei had at some point infected himself. He knew that Sergei was one of the rare people with DNA able to make a tyrant – hence why all of the Tyrant line were in actuality his clones – and he could guess just how desperate the man would be to know that his last hiding place had been breached. So while Jill and Chris went about destroying Umbrella's last B.O.W., Wesker took on the last of its high-ranking officers – and both went down at nearly the same time.

Albert glanced at the monitors to check his companions' progress, and was gratified to see them eyeing the mutated and dead T-A.L.O.S. warily. He picked up the intercom unit Sergei had been using earlier to address them. "Well, that was quicker than I expected," he chuckled. "Well done, you two. I'm just about done here as well, you go ahead and make your way out. I'll close up before I follow." They both knew what he meant by 'close up'; he was going to initiate the self-destruct, so they had better high-tail it out unless they wanted to get caught up in the explosion. Chris waved at the camera to signal understanding. Albert watched them trot back out the door they had entered, then turned to finish his own business.

Not long after that, the AUM still wandering about the facility were startled to notice all the lights shutting off, leaving them bathed in the emergency lights' red glow. Chris and Jill lingered, waiting for Albert, while one of the helicopters that had brought then in departed. Jill heard the soft _thud_ of boots landing in the snow behind them, but Chris didn't, being too focused on the flying helicopter – she didn't bother to warn him, so he jumped a bit when a gloved hand descended on his shoulder and hers. "Jesus! You're gonna have to cut that out," Chris hissed, his head snapping around to glare at the tyrant. Wesker only grinned.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Chris," Albert chided wryly. Jill put one hand over her mouth to help stifle laughter at the expression on her friend's face.

"Spare us the egotism, Albert." Chris rolled his eyes and turned to face him. "So what were you up to while we were fighting that T-A.L.O.S. thing?"

"I was dealing with Sergei, as I told you I would."

Chris quirked an eyebrow. "One man? Did it really take that long? If you hadn't decided to be a show-off and go solo you could've helped us kill T-A.L.O.S. and we could've shot that bastard down between us."

He returned the expression. "Were you really up to handling two big B.O.W. in one day? Sergei had infected himself to the t-virus, as I expected – and since he's one of the few people whose DNA creates a true tyrant, he mutated quite a bit." Surprise stamped itself across the two humans' faces. "By splitting up I saved all of us the hassle of having to fight him _and_ T-A.L.O.S. back-to-back. And I didn't just eliminate him, either – that would have been just setting us up for a very demoralizing failure."

"How so?" Jill demanded.

"Remember Sergei mentioning the Red Queen? That supercomputer held the entirety of Umbrella's history and every scrap of data they'd ever accumulated – if we'd left it intact, Spencer could have started over from scratch, or someone else could have taken it for their own purposes," Albert explained pointedly. "When I killed Sergei I also wiped the Red Queen's memory completely clean."

"So there's nothing left? All of Umbrella's data is gone forever?" Chris and Jill exchanged looks.

With an incredibly smug look, Albert pulled the disc from his pocket and held it up. "I've got it right here. You didn't think I'd be so careless as to let all that information go to waste, did you?" He held it out and, almost reverently, Chris took it. "It's all there: everything we thought had been destroyed when Raccoon was wiped off the map. Sergei so helpfully told me that he'd extracted the Queen from her home in Raccoon before the missile hit, after activating her while we were having so much fun running around in the mansion."

"Wow," Jill breathed as Chris handed the disc back to Albert. "I can't believe it. I thought every trace of Umbrella in Raccoon got blown away with the missile… that's the only reason they've managed to string along this far."

"It did, but no matter how cleverly disguised, everything leaves tracks, and this is it." Albert waggled the disc. "With this, we have more than enough incriminating evidence to bring Umbrella Chemical Inc. to its metaphorical knees. They may have been slippery enough to shift the blame, but when _this_ turns up, even the best lawyers they can call up won't be enough to save them." Expressions of grim satisfaction were traded between the trio.

***

And several months after their return from that mission, Umbrella crumbled. Its last surviving founder was a fugitive wanted the world over, and most of its former employees had long since died, gone to ground or moved on. However, the fall of Umbrella turned out to be bittersweet, for soon, the black market started to turn out the very same bioweapons of which Umbrella had been so possessive. With the corporation just a bad memory, the floodgates were open for smaller groups all over the world to snatch up its leftovers and cause even more problems. How ironic, that the world had in fact been a safer place with Umbrella still in power to control the flow of bioweapons.

In response to this phenomenon, the United Nations Security Council and the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium joined forces with the United States government to form the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance. The part of the BSAA that most people saw was the military branch: the soldiers who went around the world to combat bioterrorism. But that was far from all the BSAA was – having been birthed from the US, it was based heavily on its own military's structure; just as the US military had its Research Institute for Infectious Diseases, the BSAA had a number of their employees and a base for each international branch dedicated to researching the biological agents their soldiers faced on the field.

Chris and Jill, being the restless and driven people they were, joined the BSAA in order to continue their fight against bioterrorism: they soon became well-known personages within the Alliance. The anti-Umbrella group they had helped lead had already garnered a reputation of sorts within the circle of people who fought against the world of bioterror, so their names were already known even before they joined. Albert too joined the BSAA, but as a researcher in the Security Assessment Alliance Research Institute for Bio-Organic Weaponry. His logic was that his knowledge of the viral agents could be put to better use than putting him out on the field – his superiors in the Alliance naturally knew that he was infected, but it wasn't a widely known fact and he didn't want to make it so. It would stir up an unpleasant nest of hornets if word got out that the BSAA was deploying a B.O.W. into the field. It also kept any conflicts from coming up with the BSAA's own fraternization regulations, since he and Jill worked in two separate areas of the Alliance.

It was a good thing that the BSAA had showed up when it had, and not just for the state of the world – it gave Albert, Jill and Chris a continuing purpose. After Umbrella's fall the AUM dissolved, having little further purpose now that their enemy was gone – the members scattered for the most part, with some of them taking a well-deserved break. Claire joined Terrasave to keep up the fight in her own fashion. Steve for one was rather at a loss, but he was far from the only one whose entire world up to that point had been consumed by the need to see Umbrella's fall. Sherry kept in close contact with everyone, having bonded closely with them all during her stay with the AUM. Life was rather confusing for a while as they were forced to take a step back and reorder their priorities, but for at least two of them, things started falling into place by 2004.

Jill and Albert had rented an apartment not far from the North American SAARIBOW where he was stationed, and since the Institute's grounds doubled as the headquarters for the BSAA's North American branch, that was where both Jill and Chris ended up reporting for missions. Since the two had worked together frequently in the past, the BSAA had assigned them both to the same team. Chris lived nearby as well for convenience, and Claire was a frequent visitor at both apartments, since she spent a lot of her time traveling for Terrasave.

Spring painted the landscape in a myriad of vibrant hues and filled the air with sweet perfumes as winter relinquished its clammy grip. Albert took Jill out on a date – one of the first they'd been able to manage in a while, given how busy they'd both been – and both of them just spent the evening enjoying themselves. It was a relaxing change of pace. There was a botanical gardens attached to the park near their apartment, so they took the opportunity to amble through it before it closed. They paused their ramble and stood on the edge of the small lake around with the park was centered, watching the sun prepare to dip below the horizon. Albert put his arm around Jill's waist and pulled her against him, burying his face in her hair. She sighed contentedly and leaned into his embrace. Suddenly, a soft smile graced her features, and she chuckled.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Just reminiscing… remember when you first asked me out?"

He chuckled. "How could I forget?"

***

It had been a stressful week for Jill. Her car was in the shop, making getting to and from the police station more of an ordeal than it really needed to be. She had been hitching rides with Chris for the time being, but one Thursday in particular she needed to stay after to finish up some paperwork she'd been neglecting. Chris offered to hang around until she finished, but to everyone's surprise, Captain Wesker cut in. "I'm going to be here for a while myself, so I'll take you home," he offered, a slight smile on his lips. Jill, of course, accepted gratefully – and if she was honest, with a slight blush she hoped no one noticed.

She was the most recent addition to S.T.A.R.S. Alpha. She'd joined a few months ago on the advice of her long-time friend Chris, who was bursting with pride at being on Alpha team. She hadn't expected to be taken straight into Alpha, but apparently the Captain had deemed her past experience with Delta Force enough to qualify her to run with the big boys in his team. When she'd first arrived, as the others had, she'd been rather intimidated by her new boss – Chris told her it would pass once she got used to him. It did, for the most part, but there was one problem with that. She found herself with a rather unfortunate infatuation – and she knew she wasn't the only female cop in the R.P.D. to have a crush on the handsome Captain. She dealt with it to the best of her abilities – rather well, she thought – and tried not to let it interfere with her work. She was sure no one had noticed it, but she couldn't be sure about the Captain himself – Wesker was such a canny bastard, and hard to read to boot.

She found herself rather distracted later that day when it was just the two of them left in the S.T.A.R.S. office. Between the whole team, they all knew next to nothing about their Captain's life outside the force – not even where he lived. He usually arrived before them to the station and frequently left later, and there were times when Jill was sure the man never even left. Attempts had been made to get him to tell them more about himself – some of Bravo were bound and determined to get details about his love life from him – but he would always deftly sidestep their questions if they got too prying. Jill usually didn't participate in these sessions, since she felt like it wasn't her place to ask such personal questions. If he wanted to tell them, he would.

Soon, Jill finished what she needed to finish, and put them all away in her desk with a sigh of relief. She glanced over at the desk next to hers, which belonged to Chris, and shook her head. The man seemed incapable of keeping his space organized: papers were everywhere. "For Christ's sake, Chris, learn some organization skills," she muttered. She glanced over her shoulder to see if Wesker was done, but since his head was still bent over whatever he was writing, she took that as a sign that she had some time to kill. So she took it upon herself to at least make her friend's desk not look so much like an illiterate child had been riffling through the papers. It would perplex him to no end to find his desk organized the next morning, but she felt embarrassed for him. Maybe it was just self-conscious jitters from being left alone with the object of her infatuation.

"I'm glad someone else thinks so," Wesker drawled ironically. Jill turned to see him smirking in amusement, watching her. "I've told him time and again to keep up with organizing his desk, but it's like talking to a small child sometimes. Just let me finish this and we can go – I'm sorry to make you wait."

"Oh, it's no problem," she answered quickly. She was the one in his debt for offering her a ride. She was more than willing to wait for a little while – was it that she didn't mind as much because it meant she could be around him more? Damn infatuation.

Wesker soon finished what he was doing, so they both exited the office and went to his car. Jill had often admired the Mustang from afar and was rather excited to be able to ride in it. She tried to hide a blush when he reached the car first and opened her door for her with a faint smile. When he sat in the driver's side and started it up, Jill left off her inspection of the interior. "Thanks again for driving me," she began, but Wesker cut her off.

"It's no problem, really," he assured her. "You'll have to give me directions, though."

They made it to her apartment without incident, and Wesker chivalrously walked her to her door. Jill felt slightly self-conscious as she unlocked the door, and turned back toward the Captain. "Um, would you like to come in for a while?" she asked, a little uncertain. She wanted to repay him somehow for giving her a ride – and, to be honest, she didn't want him to leave so soon.

He smiled. "Very much so." Jill couldn't resist returning his smile – it just made his features even more attractive, in her opinion. Maybe it was a good thing he was almost always straight-faced.

Jill emerged from the kitchen with two glasses of water and went over to where Wesker was sitting on the couch, in the process of folding his shades after removing them. Jill handed him his glass, which he accepted with a smile – Jill was unable to tear her gaze away from his eyes for a moment. She hadn't met anyone before with eyes the same shade of clear-ice blue; they were so unique. His gaze seemed so piercing. After a moment she realized she was staring and averted her face, trying not to blush. He seemed unfazed.

"So, Captain –" she started to say, but again he cut her off.

"Please, Jill, feel free to call me Albert when we're off-duty," he said, still smiling. "There's no need for formality on our own time."

After that, the conversation remained light, though Jill lost track of time. They talked for quite a while, and before she knew it the sky outside was pitch black. She glanced at her watch and was surprised at the time. "Oh jeez, is it really that late already?"

Albert glanced at his own watch. "It seems so. I should be going – but I have one thing to ask before I do." Jill inclined her head curiously. "Are you doing anything tomorrow evening?"

"I don't think so," she answered, brow furrowed in thought. No, her schedule was clear.

The ghost of a smile returned to his lips. "Then would you be interested in going out to dinner?"

Jill paused, giving the now-grinning Wesker a surprised look. "Um, you mean, as in a date?"

"That's the general idea, yes."

Trying – and failing – to make the blush dusting her cheeks go away, Jill cleared her throat. She hadn't expected him to ask her out – he'd just always seemed like the loner type. He noticed her discomfiture and spoke up again to give her time to gather words. "You hid it well, but I couldn't help but notice the way you were acting around me. You aren't the first by any means, but you are the first in whom I return the interest," he told her. "So, what do you say?"

Jill recovered her aplomb gracefully and looked up at him. "Well, I can't say I object, but isn't that against policy?"

He grinned slyly and leaned forward. "Rules are made to be broken, my dear Jill, and what they don't know won't hurt them."

***

"Work the day after that was so awkward," Jill remembered, chuckling. "But that first date was wonderful. I still wonder to this day how you knew which was my favorite restaurant in town."

"Believe it or not, dear heart, it was a guess."

"A very good one. And after that we walked through the park… it was so pretty that time of year with all the trees just beginning to bud." Jill looked around. "Tonight reminds me a lot of that."

Little did she know, that had been his intention. He'd even chosen a restaurant much like the one they'd gone to on that first date. Albert slipped a hand into the pocket of his coat and wrapped one hand around the object within it, just to reassure himself. They both slipped into a brief silence while he nerved himself up. "Jill, I have something I need to tell you – or rather, ask. I've been meaning to for a long time, but the moment never seemed right," he began, murmuring the words softly in her ear. Jill craned her head around to look at him, eyebrows raised curiously. "I feel like I can never tell you enough how much I love you. I can't imagine going through life without you – it would be meaningless." His fervent, sincere tone brought a tender smile to her lips.

Albert turned her in his arms so that they were facing, took a small step back, and then fell onto one knee. Out of his coat pocket he withdrew a black velvet-covered case and opened it to reveal a delicate silver band decorated with several small blue diamonds. As soon as he'd gone on his knee Jill's hands had shot up to cover her mouth. "Jill Valentine, will you marry me?"

It took a moment for Jill to find her voice, and even then it was choked with emotion. "Oh Albert – yes!" she breathed, barely articulate. He stood up again and was promptly tackled as Jill threw her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down against hers. He pulled her tight against his chest.

After several long moments, Jill pulled back far enough to look into his face with shining eyes. Albert rested his brow against hers, smiling tenderly. "How long?" she asked softly. "How long have you been waiting to ask me?"

"Since July of '98, my dear. That's when it hit me how very much you mean to me. I would have done this before now, but at the time our circumstances were hardly appropriate," he explained. "I wanted to be sure – I didn't want to compromise what we have by rushing things."

She nodded in understanding. "I'm glad you did… but I'm even more glad you finally worked up the nerve to propose. And don't tell me you haven't hesitated out of nervousness. No man in his right mind isn't a little unsure."

He chuckled. "Of course I was. But at the same time, I couldn't wait any longer."

Jill tilted her head up to press their lips together again. "I love you," she murmured.

"And I love you, dear heart."

* * *

The next day, after Albert had left for work – life went on no matter their personal trials and tribulations – Jill called Chris and Claire over, too excited to wait to tell them. She wore her new ring proudly, frequently pausing to admire it in the shafts of sunlight coming through the kitchen window. He knew that blue was her favorite color; she couldn't have asked for a more beautiful ring.

Just as Jill was starting to get a little impatient, the door opened and the two Redfield siblings entered. "We're here," Chris called.

Jill came out of the kitchen and grinned. "So I gathered. C'mon in, you two. Coffee?"

"I'll have some, thanks," said Claire as she flopped onto the couch. "I could use some caffeine right about now."

Jill came into the living area and handed Claire a mug. "Terrasave working you hard, huh?"

"You have _no_ idea." The young woman took a deep swig of the coffee and sighed. "And you guys think the BSAA people are slavedrivers." Jill and Chris chuckled. "Where'd your man get to, Jill? Work?"

She grinned. "You know Albert – he never stops."

Chris snorted. "He's such a workaholic – it's Saturday! You need to break him of that habit, Jill."

"Pff. Making the sun rise in the west would be easier. He's as stubborn as you are, Chris – trying to make him change his ways is practically impossible."

Claire suddenly sat forward and reached out to grab Jill's left hand, which he had been using to gesture. "Hold the phone – is this what I think it is?" she asked, her eyebrows climbing. "Please tell me it's an engagement ring, Jill. I will never forgive Albert if it's anything else."

Jill laughed and held her hand out for them both to see. "It's exactly what you think it is, Claire. He proposed last night – that's why I got you two over here, so I could give you the news."

Claire's expression broke into a huge grin. "It's about time! I thought he'd never work up the courage! You must share details," she pressed.

Jill opened her mouth to begin describing the date, but then she noticed Chris' expression out of the corner of her eye, and dissolved into chuckles. "Close your mouth, Chris, you look like an idiot." Claire glanced at her brother and joined Jill's mirth.

Chris managed to wipe the dumbfounded expression off his face and scowled. "My mouth wasn't hanging open," he protested.

"Just about, though," Claire giggled. "That look was priceless. I wish I'd brought my camera."

Chris scowled at the two women, though there was no heat behind his glare. Soon enough they got their amusement under control, though they both still wore grins. His reaction had just been too priceless. "All right, enough laughing at Christopher," he grumbled. "I was surprised, that's all."

"Gobsmacked sounds more like it going by your expression just then," snickered Claire. "And really, how did you not see it coming? I've been waiting for him to pop the question for a while now." She turned back to Jill. "Do go on."

Jill chuckled as Claire dodged a good-natured cuff from her older brother and waited until the two Redfields had settled down before beginning. "He took me to a restaurant a lot like the one we went to for our first date – the whole thing was almost like a repeat, I'm surprised I didn't catch on sooner. We were standing on the edge of the lake and watching the sun go down –"

"My God, that's so damn romantic," Claire remarked. "Sorry. Continue."

Jill chuckled. "No, you're right, it was. I'm sure that was his intention." She smiled at the still-fresh memory, rubbing her left hand absentmindedly.

"When's the wedding, have you decided yet?" Claire inquired, leaning forward eagerly.

"No, but you'll be the first to know when we do," Jill answered wryly.

"You'll make me a bridesmaid, won't you?" Claire grinned sweetly.

"Of course. Now, I'm not sure who all Albert will pick as his groomsmen, but I'm pretty sure I know who the best man will be," Jill said, glancing slyly at Chris.

His eyes widened. "Me? Are you sure?"

Claire snorted and rolled her eyes. "Chris, you're his best friend, of course you will be! You can be so _dense_ sometimes. It's no wonder you're still single."

Chris narrowed one eye at her. "Hey now! I'm single by choice, thank you. I can't help it if I'm clueless with this sort of thing – you inherited all of that, I just got the brute strength."

"You're right about that," Claire scoffed, looking him up and down. "All the muscle, none of the brains." Jill laughed as Chris made a show of flexing his arms.

A little while later, after much trading of banter, the two Redfields departed – after Claire getting a promise out of Jill to be kept up-to-date with wedding plans. Soon after that, Jill got a call from Sherry, who was gushing as enthusiastically as Claire had been – it seemed as though Albert had called her to tell her the news. She promised to pay them a visit soon so she could give her Uncle Albert a pat on the back and admire Jill's ring – which she was sure was absolutely beautiful and probably way too expensive. She finally got off the phone not long before hearing a car pull up into the parking slot just in front of their building.

Jill went to greet her fiancé at the door, but when a stiff breeze swirled by, she opted for closing the door. Just because it was spring didn't mean it was always warm – they were in the middle of a cold snap at the moment, in actuality. It felt more like winter again. Albert took his sweet time coming in, to which Jill raised an eyebrow when he finally walked in. She noticed he was holding one hand protectively against his chest. "What's up, Albert?"

The tyrant walked forward while unzipping his coat and reaching into the shirt he wore underneath. He pulled out something small and dark and held it out to Jill, who cupped her hands to accept whatever he was handing her. He dropped a skinny tortoiseshell kitten into her hands. "I heard meowing as I was getting out of the car," he explained. "When I went to investigate, I saw that little thing curled up under one of the bushes along the side of the building."

Jill cradled the little shivering bundle of fur against her chest. "She's shaking like a leaf! Poor thing, she's so thin – no wonder she's cold." That was why he'd been carrying her against his chest, protected from the wind and pressed against the warmest part of his abnormally warm body. "We need to at least feed her and take her to the vet, Albert."

He chuckled. "Why do you think I brought her in? She probably has worms, too – most strays do."

They made an appointment at a local veterinarian clinic for the following Monday and Jill, since she was at home for the next while until the BSAA sent her out on another mission, took the kitten in. In just the single day they'd had the kitten, Jill had become very fond of her – the little torti was a junkie for affection and wasn't shy at all even though they'd just plucked her off the streets. She was too young to know much better – the people fed her and kept her warm, so obviously they were friends. Once Jill had the vet check her over and prescribe medication to get rid of the worms that she did in fact have, she brought the kitten back home and made a trip to the local pet store for more cat-care supplies. Whether Albert particularly cared or not, she'd decided to keep the little kitten.

"We can't keep calling her Kitten," the tyrant remarked that evening. The kitten had deposited herself very firmly on his lap and was snoozing away like there was no tomorrow – it was obvious that she'd taken a shine to him.

"I wasn't sure what to call her either, but one of the people at the vet's office suggested Takoa. I kind of like it," Jill mentioned, petting the black, orange and chocolate-furred ball fondly.

"I do too. Takoa it is," he agreed.

* * *

**Did at least one of you lot have a cutegasm during this chapter? 'Cos I sure did. It was hard to keep writing at several points when all I wanted to do was have a fluffgasm. There'll be another chapter of this sort of thing – in-between filler and fluff – before we get down to the good parts. Have patience, though.**

**If you're wondering where Takoa comes in, it was a random idea of mine. See, my mind has a very strange way of working, but I felt like honoring one of my favorite authors here on FF.N: Special Agent FUNK. In her Wesker/Krauser fic _Flexibility_, Wesker has a cat named Mr. T. One of my best friends used to own a horse whose nickname was Mr. T, and whose read name was Takoa, and there you have it. Convoluted, but oh well. So there you go: an in-character shout-out to FUNK, whose Letters to Capcom everyone should go read right now, whether or not you already have.  
**


	14. Loose Ends Tie

**Jeez guys, there's really no excuse for how long this update has taken. I feel kinda bad for this delay, and I'm sorry if you thought I'd abandoned you. I haven't; I just suddenly developed a social life and school work. Now that summer break is coming, I should have more time to write, since everyone (including me) will be sequestered away to do their work and study. And of course, once the school year is over, I will have **_**much**_** more time to write. Until I get a job, but that's another story.**

**So. Thank you, readers who have stayed faithful through my long absence, and please go vote on the poll I put on my profile some weeks ago. You will be voting on a short side-fic to this one that is in the same universe to What If and operates on the same premise, but the plot revolves around the What If-ified version of Code: Veronica. If I ever get around to rewriting this fic – a temptation, even though I haven't even finished writing it – then I'll probably end up including that in it, but until then, it can be a side-plot.**

**But yeah… this chapter will kinda suck. I got partway through it, ground to a halt for some time, and picked it up when my Muse's cooperation was grudging at best. Please forgive me. I think it'll improve when the action picks up next chapter – for the next chapter begins the RE5 scenario. =D This will be very fun.**

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Jill stared at her fiancé in obvious skepticism. "You're telling me you want to infect yourself with another virus? Isn't the one you have bad enough, Albert?" He had come home early from work that day and sat her down to discuss it with her – given what he wanted to do, she was glad he'd consulted her about it.

"You've seen yourself how unstable the one I have is, my dear. What I'm planning on doing will, if all goes well, make sure it stops destabilizing. The problem with Arklay is that it has not gone into latency after fully amplifying through my body. Most Progenitor-based viruses, if they infect a compatible host, will become inactive once they insert their genetic material every cell in the host's body. Arklay has not done that, which is why I have the problem I do," he explained patiently. "The virus I plan on using has been heavily modified so that its only effects are the ones I want. I modified the t-virus because I already know its ins and outs, and because to some extent it already does something like what I want it to do."

"And what is it supposed to do?"

"Simply to force Arklay into latency." Arklay was the name Albert had chosen to give the virus he had contracted in the mansion those six years ago; a fitting name, he thought.

Jill quirked an eyebrow. "That sounds a little too easy. I'm sure I wouldn't understand the specifics, so don't bother. I just have one question: what are the risks?"

He sighed slightly: a sure sign that she might not like what he was about to say. "When the new virus is first introduced I will become ill for a short period of time until it assimilates into my cells – or until my body destroys it. There is always a chance that my immune system will be able to eliminate the infection. That illness will probably not be very comfortable for me, and yes, there is a chance that some permanent damage could occur. However, that chance is low. I've run enough tests on this virus that I'm fairly certain nothing should go awry."

"What do you mean by 'permanent damage'?" she asked, with a slight edge to her voice.

Albert glanced to one side. "Death is always a possibility, but more likely what will happen is mutation. To what extent is uncertain, but it will be enough to notice."

A deep sigh escaped Jill's lips, and she looked down at where her hands were fisted tensely in front of her on the table. "What exactly is the chance of that happening? You said it was low. How low?"

He reached forward to grasp her hands in his. "Less than one percent, dear heart. I've been working on this for over a year; I wouldn't even suggest it unless I'd gotten it as close to perfection as possible."

Less than one percent sounded… tolerable. "I suppose I'm gonna have to trust your judgment on this," she remarked, sounding slightly resigned. "I take it your higher-ups in SAARIBOW know you're doing this?"

Albert curled his fingers under Jill's chin so that she looked up into his face. "Jill, if you're not comfortable with me doing this, then I won't. That's why we're having this discussion: you'll be my wife soon, so you're entitled to a say in matters like this. It's not like it's a matter of life and death – I've been doing just fine for the past few years on the serum injections. This step just removes the necessity of the serum, which consumes time and resources to synthesize." Hearing that he was giving her a say was heartening for Jill; being such an individualistic, private person, he had a tendency to keep things like this to himself. "And yes, I have kept my superiors informed. I didn't want to go behind their backs like I did the Organization: _this_ job I plan to keep. I'm arranging everything with them, including the use of one of SAARIBOW's quarantining areas."

"Quarantine? Why would you need to do that?" she asked.

"Because when I become ill from the new infection, there is a strong chance that the interacting viruses will become highly contagious. I don't want to run the risk of anyone else contracting anything, so I will have to be isolated until the symptoms pass and everything settles down. It could take up to a month until it's safe for me to leave since it's procedure to give it a week or ten days after the last symptoms cease before doing anything."

"A month?" Jill repeated, slightly incredulous. "When are you planning to do it?"

"As soon as I can get everything arranged," he answered.

She chuckled wryly. "The symptoms must really be unpleasant, then."

He gave an ironic snort. "I don't anticipate enjoying it much. My immune system is stronger now than it was before, making me immune to almost all illnesses that plague humanity. The only exception seems to be other Progenitor-based viruses, and the reaction of one virus to another tends to be rather spectacular. Especially considering the changes that the new virus will be making. However, as far as I am concerned, the long-term results are worth the immediate discomfort. PG67 was meant to be a stop-gap measure until I could figure out a more permanent solution; I didn't plan on relying on it for as long as I have. I will be very glad to leave behind the hassle it presents." Having to keep syringes of the serum stockpiled made him feel rather nervous, for if anyone who wanted him dead found them, they had a very effective weapon to use against him. And having to repeatedly inject himself, once every two to three weeks, was irritating. He didn't enjoy feeling like an addict.

Jill regarded her fiancé. "Truthfully, Albert, do you think it will work? If you're confident that everything will turn out as planned and nothing too serious has a high risk of going wrong, then I'm all right with it. I may not know much about the virus, but I do know that I don't want to lose you, especially so close to our wedding."

"I am quite sure, dear heart. As I just said, if I _wasn't_ confident in it, then I wouldn't suggest it. I've been working with one of the other researchers who has experience with these viruses, and he shares my opinion," he said, meeting her gaze solemnly.

"Then, I guess that gives me no good reason not to agree." She chuckled. "Intellectually I don't have much problem with it, but after my experience in Raccoon I can't help but have some misgivings anyway."

"I understand that completely, Jill. And believe me when I say I wouldn't do this if it wasn't going to make significant improvements. Just because I've adapted to being infected doesn't mean I want to make it worse." He sighed slightly and sat up straighter. "But that issue won't come up again until I get clearance from SAAIBOW; for now we have other priorities."

Jill laughed at the tone of long-suffering that crept into his voice. "You'll plan and organize high-risk missions to raid Umbrella bases any day of the week, but a wedding is beyond you, huh?" At the grimace he pulled, she grinned. "Then again, you are a male. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. At least we have help."

"I must admit, Claire has been very helpful. Though sometimes her assistance is a little too much," Albert remarked.

"She means well," Jill asserted, smiling. "Sometimes, I admit, she goes a little far, but I don't blame her. It's just the way she is."

* * *

She stood next to him in the quarantining room as he prepared to administer the heavily-modified virus. "I know I've asked this way too many times, but –" Jill began, but Albert cut her off.

"I'm very sure of what I'm doing, and there's a low chance that anything will go wrong," he assured her patiently. "Don't worry, Jill. I'll be fine."

She smiled wryly and squeezed his hand. "You've said it enough that I should believe you, I know. I'll cut it out now. I'm just worried about you."

Albert cupped her cheek with his free hand and leaned forward to kiss her softly. "It's all right, dear heart, I understand."

From a speaker set into the wall, another voice spoke. "Whenever you're ready, Dr. Wesker. We're all set up here."

He waved to indicate that he'd heard them, then picked up the hypodermic needle that he'd already prepped. Jill eyed the clear fluid inside the syringe. Albert sensed her trepidation and held out his hand for her to take. She took it with a slight smile. Even with as many times as he'd reassured her that all would be fine, she was still a little nervous; something he couldn't blame her for in the least. As he inserted the needle into his arm and pushed the plunger to inject the fluid, Jill found herself unable to take her eyes off the needle.

***

Within eight hours of the new virus' introduction into his body, his immune system had reacted to the invasion. The onset of the symptoms was abrupt and harsh, like he'd slammed head-first into a brick wall. Albert hadn't expected to feel anything for at least thirty-six hours; instead, he was stirred from sleep in the middle of the night as all the signs of a crippling migraine descending with an alacrity that was mildly frightening. Along with the blinding headache, extreme sensitivity to light and sound, and intense nausea, he vaguely sensed other symptoms surface. He recognized the aching fatigue all over his body, cold sweat and uncontrollable shivering as counterparts to the migraine that he experienced when his virus became unstable. His vision swam and blurred while vertigo made the world buck and spin around him.

Albert had expected this to happen, though not as suddenly or rapidly. He had stockpiled a supply of PG67 that would get his through the process; however, with the acutely disoriented state he found himself in, getting to them would be a challenge. Still, survival instincts drove him to roll gingerly off of the cot and make his way across to the cooler where the syringes were stored. His progress was slow, and he had to grasp the nearest solid objects for support and balance as he went, but eventually he made it the scant six feet to the cooler. Swallowing back vomit, Albert pried the cooler open and retrieved a syringe. It nearly slipped from his fingers several times, so violently were his muscles shaking, but one way or another he managed to get the needle into his flesh and inject the serum. The tyrant slumped onto the floor, his back against a cabinet, and waited for the serum to take effect. The speaker came to life. The attendant keeping an eye on his progress asked if he needed assistance. He denied it; there was nothing to do but wait now that he'd gotten the serum into his system.

Gradually, the pain and nausea faded, leaving him drained and weak. He lacked the energy to get back up and make it back to the cot, so he fell back into an uneasy doze where he sat, and spent the few hours left until daylight drifting in and out of sleep. The speaker awoke him again. "Are we alive?" asked the SAARIBOW researcher who had been working with him on this project, Dr. Davis.

Albert cracked his eyes open blearily. "I think so," he sighed.

"It looks like your symptoms came on early… we should have foreseen that. I apologize for the inattentive watch last night."

He waved a hand. "Our guard was down; I don't blame you. Either way, the emergency was averted." Albert took a deep breath and expelled it in a heavy sigh.

"Well, now we know better. Does PG67 work the same way still?" Davis inquired.

"It isn't as effective, but that's probably more due to the severity of the instability rather than any interference from the new virus. Still, it does its job well enough that I'm not inclined to risk overdosing. I can tolerate a little discomfort." With a grunt, Albert levered himself upright; he swayed in place and had to grab the countertop to avoid falling over. There was still some lingering vertigo making the ground roll under him, and his whole body was still gripped by periodic bouts of subtle shivering, but these and the other remaining symptoms had receded enough that he could more easily move about the room.

"That's probably wise considering we don't know what an OD would do to you in this state," Davis remarked. "A meal is on its way. Do you need anything else?"

Albert had an empty hypodermic needle in hand and was preparing to draw blood. He answered absentmindedly over his shoulder. "Not at the moment, thank you." The speaker clicked off and he took a blood sample from himself for testing. He almost regretted the fact that SAARIBOW didn't have very many cryostasis tanks: being in suspended animation would save him a lot of discomfort and was overall a safer method for regulating processes like this. However, such an action was too like something Umbrella would do for any BSAA employee to feel comfortable doing, and at any rate he wouldn't have stood for being treated like a test subject.

Shortly after discarding the needle and sending off the blood sample, a buzz alerted him to the fact that his breakfast had arrived. He made his way across to the door, pausing to lean against the wall until he heard the door on the other side close; between the quarantine and the rest of the base was a small antechamber acting as a gray zone to buffer the base from possible leakage of infectious agents. Once the gray zone was closed off, he opened the door to retrieve the tray that had been left for him, and retreated back into the quarantine room.

While waiting on word back from the blood sample, he ate. He still felt mildly nauseous and had no appetite, but he knew that not eating was worse, and at least it killed time. The food was bland but nutritious, and tailored more toward a carnivore, since taxing his system with too much plant matter when he was already queasy would not end well. Once he was finished with the meal, Albert made his way back over to the cot. He wasn't quite exhausted just from performing the simple tasks of walking around the room, but the heavy, aching fatigue still gripped his muscles, so he wasn't willing to risk pushing himself.

There was a computer console on the desk next to the cot; its screen came to life with a small window in the center flashing impatiently. Albert reached over to accept the video call, and the screen was overtaken by an image of Dr. Davis. "I have good news and bad news," he remarked mildly.

Albert wasn't surprised. "Tell on."

Davis glanced to one side, at a second computer screen off camera. "The good news is that, if the rate at which TyAW is spreading stays the same, the whole process should be over sooner than we thought. Your immune system doesn't seem to quite know what to think of it, so for the most part the virus is left to its own devices. That is, until Arklay comes into the picture – and that leads me to the bad news."

"Arklay amplifies aggressively to take over my immune system and battle the new infection, I take it? So while I keep it at bay with PG67 all is well, but once it wears off I'll have my hands full," Albert stated. It hadn't been difficult for him to realize what was going on. He had designed the new virus, which he and the other SAARIBOW researchers on the project had named TyAW, to do exactly what it was doing: to present itself as harmless to leukocytes and then take those cells over, turning them from protectors to Trojan horses, and using them as vehicles to spread through the body. A human's immune system would be completely fooled, and within a day, they would have completely succumbed. That was why he had opted to use the t-virus as the basis for TyAW, since the t-virus was already frighteningly good at attacking and subduing the human immune system. It was an elegant design, if he said so himself.

Elegant, and if anyone with ill intentions ever got a hold of the research he had done to make it, the world would be doomed. Albert was actually rather surprised that the BSAA had allowed this sort of research to take place, considering the fact that its end result was possibly the most insidious virus in existence. It was sobering to think of, really; it reminded him of one of his catch-phrases from Umbrella. _There's practically no difference between researching a cure and researching a bio-weapon_. He was sure that his BSAA superiors were well aware of this, which was why he was only doing this under strict watch.

Davis nodded, bringing Albert out of his moment of brooding. "Exactly. And from the looks of it, the episodes of instability will get increasingly worse with time until TyAW goes lysogenic. That's the gist of it; I'll send you the info shortly."

The next several hours passed uneventfully; Albert spent most of the day drifting in and out of a light doze. In the early afternoon, however, Jill dropped by to pay her fiancé a visit, only to find out that the full quarantine had already been imposed; needless to say, she was slightly concerned. She petitioned Dr. Davis and was allowed onto the computer in his lab that connected to the one in the quarantine room so that she could at least talk to him.

When Albert accepted the call and the camera on his end fed the image onto her screen, Jill's brow immediately furrowed in concern. "Albert, you look terrible. Are you all right?"

The tyrant chuckled. "Thank you for the compliment, Jill," he said ironically. "And yes, for now I'm fine. The symptoms came on earlier than we expected, but we caught them before anything had a chance to go wrong."

Jill couldn't help but smile. If he was able to crack a joke, then he couldn't be in horrible shape: his sense of humor tended to go down the drain if he didn't feel well. "I'm glad you caught it in time. Anything else to report? Do we know how long it'll take?"

"Well, since it's being so aggressive this early, we're thinking that it might only be a week to ten days. Of course, once the symptoms pass we'll need to give my system a few days , to avoid a relapse and make sure it isn't contagious; so I'd say two weeks, if things keep up the way they have," he explained, absently running one hand through his hair. "Perhaps sooner, perhaps later."

She noticeably brightened. "That soon?"

A smile tugged at his lips. "Do you miss me that much already, dear heart?"

"Takoa does; I just miss having the extra help around the apartment," Jill teased, earning herself a chuckle from her fiancé.

***

True to his prediction, the symptoms had faded to nothing by the time nine days had passed. This came much to Albert's relief, since he had been forced to underdose serum the entire time to avoid any negative reactions once TyAW fulfilled its purpose. There had been close shaves similar to the first night in which Albert was hard-pressed to get the PG67 into his system before he went critical; however, those possible disasters were avoided. After the first one or two times it happened they got better at predicting when the episodes would take place, though they remained somewhat unpredictable.

Albert spent another three days in the quarantine, and when he was deemed fully recovered and not contagious, he was finally released. A change of clothes was left for him in the gray zone; he was glad to be in his own clothing again. Nothing from the quarantine room besides his person was to leave, to avoid letting any contagion escape into the base: a necessary precaution considering the nature of the viruses. The tyrant stepped out of the gray zone for the first time in nearly two weeks and was nearly bowled over. Jill had come up behind him and tackled him. With her arms locked around his waist, Jill buried her face into his shoulderblades happily. Chris strolled up after her, smiling in amusement at his friend's antics.

"I missed you too, my dear," Albert chuckled. He loosened Jill's arms enough that he could turn to face her, then leaned down to kiss her.

Chris playfully rolled his eyes and coughed a laugh when Jill elbowed him. "Ow! Easy, Jill, I was kidding."

Dr. Davis approached; he was unable to keep a slight smile from his features to see the interactions of the three ex-S.T.A.R.S.. Most of the SAARIBOW researchers were used to seeing Wesker when the tyrant was focused on his work: he was polite and worked smoothly with the others on his team, but was still aloof and introspective. The easy affection he showed when around Jill or Chris was a rare sight to his coworkers. He nodded a greeting to Chris and waited, patiently, to be noticed by the other two.

As Chris approached to strike up a conversation with Davis, the older man noticed a limp in the agent's step. Davis quirked an eyebrow. "What did you do to yourself this time?" Chris was a well-known figure throughout the base, especially to the medical corps, since he had a tendency to be reckless and get himself hurt. Never severely enough to put him out of commission for long; but still, one of his titles was the Hobby of Medics.

Chris laughed lightly. "This time, I didn't do it –"

"That's a lie," Jill interrupted wryly. "Don't pull that bullshit, Chris – we were there, we saw it happen." She stepped back, out of Albert's arms, and made as if to kick the leg Chris was favoring.

He yelped before she even made contact and hopped out of the way, protesting, "You're so violent, Jill! Jeez! Gimme a break. It really wasn't my fault."

Albert just stood back, chuckling under his breath; he'd been there as well. It hadn't been a mission, but a hike: a casual excursion with the two siblings, Sherry, Albert, and Jill. By the time they were heading back, the sun had mostly set. In twilight's blue gloom, the humans found it more difficult to navigate the sometimes treacherous roots that crisscrossed the mountain paths. Albert had even called forward to warn the runners about the tangle of roots, but Sherry had dared challenge Chris to a race down the slope. Sherry had noticed the roots and jumped over them; Chris had had his eyes on the way ahead.

Davis chuckled at the mock-scowl Chris wore to glare at Jill and Albert. He shook his head at the pair and turned back to the older researcher. "Anyway, it's not that bad. By the time we get another mission I'll be back to normal."

"Normal? When was 'normal' a term that ever applied to you, Chris?" Albert inquired acerbically. He grinned wolfishly in response to Chris' glare while Jill laughed. He stepped past the marksman and accepted the file Davis handed him. "Thank you for your help, Dr. Davis."

"It was my pleasure," Davis replied. "I assume we'll be seeing you again soon? I'm not foolish enough to think you'll take that recommended week off."

Albert chuckled. "I'll probably take a few days," he said, feeling the significant look Jill was drilling into the back of his head.

Davis caught sight of her expression and had to chuckle. "Good! Then, I'll see you whenever you're allowed to return." With that comment eliciting mirth all around, the ex-S.T.A.R.S. took their leave.

***

Back at their apartment, with Takoa curled up once again in his lap, Albert allowed himself to unwind. He sat on the couch with one arm around Jill, his head leaned into the backrest, and breathed deeply. Jill, with her face half buried in his shoulder, smiled in contentment. "I'm glad you're back." He pulled her closer for a brief moment in response. "Though I wish you would remember to take those damn shades off – you look ridiculous when you wear them indoors. I know too much light irritates your eyes, but it's not _that_ bright in here."

He laughed quietly and grasped the rim, but hesitated to pull them off. "Very true." Before Jill noticed the pause, he pulled the sunglasses off and looked at her. Jill's brow creased slightly. Did his eyes look different? He nodded subtly, reading her question from the expression on her face. "It was inevitable that the introduction of a new contagion would mutate Arklay slightly, and cause a few subtle changes in my body. This is the extent of it, though." The only difference was that the hair-thin rim of gold around his slitted pupils had broadened slightly, and the red-orange that radiated from that into the darker reds close to his scleras had lightened, become closer to true orange. It was hard to tell that anything had changed.

Jill frowned. "I thought you said there was a less than one percent chance that there would be mutations –"

"Less than one percent chance of _significant_ mutations, Jill. Mutation does not always mean extra limbs. The chance of _damaging_ changes was low. Nothing that did lasting damage happened. The mutation that did occur is so miniscule as to be negligible, and the end result is that I will no longer be dependent on PG67 to keep me alive. Isn't that an acceptable tradeoff?" Albert's voice was terse; he was still stressed from being cooped up in the quarantine, and he was fast losing patience with people questioning his decisions. He had been bombarded with "Are you sure" and "I hope you know what you're doing" from all corners since the beginning of this project and he was sick of it.

Jill leaned back from the intensity of his words. "All right, Albert," she said quietly. "I wasn't trying to criticize. I was just trying to understand. I'm sorry." She had learned long ago that when he got defensive, the best thing to do was to back off and let him calm down. He got mulish when his back was up, and that never got anyone anywhere.

The tyrant shook his head slightly, sighing. "No, I should apologize. I shouldn't have snapped at you. Forgive me for that."

Soothingly, Jill rubbed his shoulder. "It's all right, love. I don't blame you; you've been under a lot of stress lately."

* * *

Much to impatient Claire's frustration, the date for the wedding was set for early in the next year. "There's no need to rush into anything," Albert calmly assured her. "Have patience." The reason for the year's delay was simply to give the couple a chance to internalize the impending union, and to make sure that both were comfortable with and ready for this step. It was Albert's cautious nature that initiated it, and Jill saw the wisdom in it. She had no problem with waiting, for she was sure of her feelings. It also gave everyone on the guest list time to clear up their schedules to attend – people like Leon, whose job with the US government had him in Spain later that very year. Leon and the others managed to get enough time off to attend the wedding.

The guest list itself was short, since both bride and groom wanted to keep the ceremony small and intimate; most of those who would be in attendance had been in the AUM. Several years of fighting together for the same cause had knit the group close. Karen, Albert's adoptive sister, would be in attendance; however, the one person Jill had most wished to attend was unable. Her father Richard, in poor health for some time, had died in late 2002. Jill had been inconsolable at first, and that fact made the whole ceremony slightly bittersweet for her, as her beloved father could not be there to walk her down the aisle.

In the days leading up to the ceremony, the guests began to gather. The ex-AUM members decided to go out to dinner, for old times' sake; it was a chance to catch up with each other and reminisce. And it was a time for warnings. They all sat down, most of them smiling and joking; all except for Leon. His handsome features were troubled and his body bore the half-healed marks from his most recent mission that had brought him into the spotlight. He was now an American hero in the same echelon as Chris and Jill. It surprised some of the ex-AUM that Albert, who had been their leader for several years, had not risen to the same level of fame; however, the tyrant preferred obscurity – it helped that his role in the BSAA was the 'tamer' occupation of researcher, rather than field agent. He was known, but not as widely, and he liked things exactly the way they were.

Albert noticed Leon's solemn expression and gestured for everyone to quiet down. "You have something to tell us about your mission to Spain?" the tyrant asked, raising an eyebrow. "Not much has been released to the public, which seems fishy to me. What is the government hiding?" Albert had told the team years ago that his former research partner William had come dangerously close to selling his G virus research to the government; he had tried to instill in them a healthy wariness of big institutions. That hadn't stopped Leon from going to work for the Secret Service, though.

Leon leaned forward to prop his elbows on the table. "I think they're going to release my report soon – the BSAA will get a copy, that much I'm certain of. How much has been made public? I haven't bothered to keep track of the news."

"They make mention of some religious cult connected to bioweapons, but that's about the extent of it," Claire explained, frowning. She didn't like it any more than anyone else in the group.

"The cult is called Los Illuminados. It's pretty old, from what I learned, and was intimately connected to an old line of castellans. It had taken over a whole village and even the castellan – I only met one native who wasn't hostile." Leon took a deep breath. "The bioweapons part… it wasn't a bioweapon the way we think of it, but it could easily turn into one. I don't know if anyone in the BSAA knows anything about ancient parasites called Las Plagas…?" He looked to Albert, who shrugged.

"I haven't seen anything like that on our records – but then, my research is on viruses, not parasites."

"Well, there was an infestation of Las Plagas. That was how Saddler – the cult leader – recruited people. Evidently there was a mine of some sort under the village where fossilized Plagas were buried, and somehow they infected the workers. It had spread to the whole village by the time I got there, along with the entire cult membership. The castellan, Salazar, had one too, but his was different – he had a control Plaga. Saddler had a master Plaga, which gave him control of the other Plaga hosts. There was one other master Plaga. Saddler intended to give that one to Ashley; then he was going to let her be rescued and brought back to the US… and you can guess what would happen from there." Grim looks were exchanged.

"But you managed to free Ashley before that happened, I assume," Albert remarked.

"Yeah… sorta. By the time I got there, they had already given Ashley a normal Plaga egg, since they needed to be able to control her." He paused, glancing in shame to one side, rubbing his neck. "I… early in my mission, I got careless. They captured me, and injected an egg into me."

Instead of drawing back from him as he'd half expected, the group leaned closer, their expressions ranging from sympathy to suppressed horror. Claire put her hand on his arm and squeezed reassuringly. Jill opened her mouth to ask a question, but Albert lightly nudged her. Leon would continue his story; he just needed a moment to compose himself.

Taking a deep breath, Leon continued, heartened by the silent support of the team. "I almost forgot about it for some time, but I blacked out when it hatched. Several times I ran into a native called Luis who had removed his Plaga – he gave me a drug to stall the parasite. He had stolen the master Plaga sample from Saddler, but Saddler killed him and got the sample back." Leon's fists tightened at the memory. Poor Luis… "Anyway, in the end, I found a machine Luis had made that destroys the parasites, and got rid of Ashley's and my Plaga. I killed Saddler, and I almost had the master Plaga sample…" Leon broke off, growling in frustration. He looked up and locked eyes with Albert. "Ada was there. I ran into her several times throughout my mission. When I was exhausted from fighting Saddler, she held me at gunpoint and took the sample. I'm not sure who she's working for, but since she has that sample, it can't be good."

The tyrant steepled his fingers pensively. They all knew that Ada was one of the Organization's top operatives, but Albert had worked with her a few times in his stint with that group. "I trust you included that in your report?" Leon nodded. "Well, as long as the appropriate authorities get wind of it… we'll just have to wait and see."

Leon raised an eyebrow at Albert's seeming nonchalance. "You don't seem that concerned."

"I'm plenty concerned, but there isn't much we can do at the moment. You say the report will be released soon, so once the BSAA is alerted to that possible threat, they will be able to mobilize a more effective force to deal with any future outbreak of Las Plagas." Albert shrugged one shoulder. "Until we see the evidence of an outbreak of these parasites surfacing, there is no use in panicking." Nods came from the others, though Leon still seemed troubled. Even so, he surrendered to the others' wisdom. The Secret Service agent still couldn't shake the conviction, however, that Las Plagas would make a comeback.

***

A warm hand cupped Jill's cheek and pulled her from peaceful dreams. "My very dear heart, it's time to wake up," Albert murmured.

Smiling even before she got her eyes open, Jill wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a kiss. "Good morning," she sighed, content. "Today's the day, huh?"

He hummed in agreement and leaned in to kiss her again. "Are you ready?"

Jill laughed softly. "I've been ready for this for a long time, Albert. How about you?"

"My dear, you have no idea how long I've looked forward to this," he breathed. Their lips met in a slow, lingering kiss, which Albert only broke reluctantly. "I'll see you there," he promised, and was gone.

Jill reclined for a few moments in bed, savoring the anticipation that had been building for the past weeks before she rose. A mix of emotions ran rampant through her mind; excitement tempered with nervousness dominated. She wanted the whole thing to be over and done with so she could be with her beloved, but at the same time, she wanted this day and its happiness to last forever. She was rather tired – anticipation had kept her awake long after she would have otherwise surrendered to sleep – but the energy that her eagerness lent was enough to get her out of bed.

After that, the day dragged on at lightning speed; every minute seemed to last an agonizingly long time, but when she looked back, it seemed like she had only left home moments ago. Getting herself ready while activity buzzed around her, with people running to and fro intently; the whole atmosphere was one of building excitement that tightened her nerves more and more as the time approached. What was it about such events that made the heart flutter with uncertainty, despite previous conviction?

Finally, the preparations were finished and the ceremony began. Heart in her throat, Jill took her place and waited for the cue, with Chris standing at her side. He gave her a wink and a reassuring squeeze of the arm. She smiled back gratefully. She didn't know what she'd do without her brother-in-spirit. Then it was time to go.

The very passing of time seemed surreal. They reached the end of the aisle, where Chris handed her off to Albert and eased around to take his place as best man. Albert's eyes as he met her gaze were the color of chocolate thanks to contacts; he couldn't wear his sunglasses, but neither could he have his true eye color visible to all and sundry. Jill disliked the necessity, but she was willing to tolerate it for the time being.

Jill was so caught up in her own emotions and thoughts that she almost lost track of the world around them. She found herself studying his form: he stood tall and straight, as usual – the picture of cool, unflappable confidence. If he felt any nervousness at all, she couldn't tell. His usually expressionless features held a hint of tenderness, though, and the softness about his eyes and mouth reassured her. She had gotten quite good at reading his oft-understated expressions and she could tell that behind the smile that was barely there, he was just as eager as she. Every now and then, if the sermon touched on a topic he found significant, he would squeeze her hand slightly.

It seemed to Jill like the ceremony took an inordinately long time, but finally, it was time for vows to be exchanged. Did he take her as his wife? "I do," Albert said; his voice was soft, but the sincerity behind it carried the simple words to every corner of the room. Did she take him as her husband? Such a silly question. "I do," Jill echoed, her voice shaky with emotion.

There was no way to describe what she felt when their lips met. In that life-changing moment, there was nothing else to the world but the two of them and what had to be the best kiss she'd ever participated in. Albert cradled her close to him, holding her as if he never wanted to let go; neither did Jill. Loosening her arms from around his neck was almost painful. Their faces were still only centimeters apart when he breathed a heartfelt "I love you," and he sounded close to weeping. She gazed into his eyes and saw that they were glassy with unshed tears. That was all it took for the moisture beading in the corners of her eyes to flow free. He lifted his hands to her face to wipe them away.

The boisterous crowd of well-wishers shattered the timeless moment, but Jill couldn't begrudge them for long, for the outpouring of love and support exuded by those gathered made up for the intrusion. She was beset from all sides by people wanting to hug and congratulate her. This happy chaos spilled out onto the lawn, with only a brief pause for everyone to commute the short distance to the reception, which took place at the shore of the lake. There was something about the broad, tranquil expanse of water as a backdrop that was so fitting.

Guests filtered one by one into the reception. One of the first to get there to monopolize the newlyweds' attention was Karen. She trotted up to her adoptive brother and threw her arms around him, the evidence of tears clear in her puffy eyes and roughened voice. "I'm happy for you, kid. You hang onto her, got it?"

It brought a smile to Jill's lips to see Albert return the fierce embrace. "I will."

Karen turned to pull her sister-in-law into another hug. "Take care of that big lump for me," she commanded, smiling through a new round of tears. "I'm so glad you came into his life, Jill. He won't admit it, but he was lonely for a long time, and it broke my heart." Karen pulled back to hold Jill at arm's length. She chuckled under her breath. "I was so surprised when he told me he wanted to marry you that at first I thought he was kidding, but hearing him talk about you convinced me that he was serious. You have no idea how happy it made me."

"Thank you, Karen. It means a lot to me for you to be so supportive of us. And don't worry – I'll keep him in line." Jill grinned conspiratorially. She was still rather giddy with euphoria.

Karen grinned back and winked, but before the older woman could get another word out, Sherry scampered up and halfway tackled her former caretaker. Jill laughed at the reunion. Someone came up behind her and took her hand; she didn't need to look to tell it was Albert. She turned to face him, smiling tenderly up into his face. He leaned down to kiss her and she put one hand around his neck to hold him there. It was a time for rejoicing; a time to put troubles to the side for a moment and simply enjoy being alive.

The cake – a demure thing, but still elegant – was cut; the bouquet was tossed (Jill may or may not have glanced around beforehand and deliberately thrown it in Claire's direction); all the timeless traditions were observed. Food and drink were spread out under the tent that served as a focal point for the cheerful crowd. The sun sank below the horizon as they celebrated, staining the sky a range of hues from gold in the west to indigo in the east. But the passing of time was a trivial thing to the merrymakers, who were having too good a time to worry much about the lateness of the hour.

Then, it came time for the newlyweds to flee the crowd – Jill was glad for the chance to escape. The festivities were enjoyable, certainly, but slightly tedious when what she really wanted was to get some time alone with her husband. He flashed a relieved look in her direction, bringing a smile to her lips. She knew he was more than ready to go; crowds wore on his nerves quite easily, especially considering his acute senses, which in large groups of people were bombarded with input. So it was gratefully that they got into the car and drove away, chased by the cheers of their loved ones.

Once they were around the corner, Albert chuckled and shook his head. "I don't know about you, but I'm glad to be away from that. Parties never were my cup of tea."

Jill leaned against his arm and smiled. "I was having fun, actually." Being so surrounded by people who were celebrating her wedding, hearing the laughter and the banter of friends who had not seen each other for years, was a restful break from the stress of real life. "But you're right; it is nice to get away from the chaos."

***

The honeymoon was in Stone Ville, a town close to where Raccoon had been and a place full of memories. They had both agreed on that place for the same reasons: remembrance. In the six years since the outbreak, never once had any of the ex-S.T.A.R.S. returned to the crater that had once been Raccoon City. However, Jill and Albert felt that it was high time that they did, as over the years, they hadn't often had the time to properly honor everything that had been lost the day Raccoon was destroyed.

They stayed in a hotel overlooking the river. Naturally, one of the things they did was to drive out toward the crater; it would have been nice to be able to be able to approach the site where their lives were changed forever, but they were stopped. Jill sighed to see a high barbed wire fence surrounding the entire area. Umbrella had built a base on the site once the fallout from the explosion had reached tolerable levels, which had been promptly taken over by the US government when the corporation fell – this the entire AUM had known, but that didn't change the fact that it was rather frustrating.

Since both she and Albert were members of the BSAA, they were allowed onto the premises. Albert showed no interest in the facility in the middle of the crater – after all, when you'd been in one or two Umbrella labs, you'd been in them all – though Jill studied it from afar. "I wonder why they built that here," she remarked.

"Probably so they could see if there was anything under the rubble worth salvaging," he said absently. "Umbrella was always a jealous institution."

Jill looked up at his face, which was pensive and flat. He was caught up in his own memories; she thought sadly that few of them had to be happy. "Do you think their excuse for restricting the area was true?"

"I doubt it. The bombs would have released enough heat to denature the proteins of viral capsids for some distance beyond the impact zone. Even if some made it past that and the effects of the fallout, as time went on the viruses would eventually degrade since they lacked living hosts. After at most a year, this place would have been completely sterile and pose no hazard." He shrugged. "They might have found a few traces of viable virus when they did the initial survey, but those wouldn't have lasted long."

For several more long moments, they stood in silence at the edge of the crater. Jill thought back on her experiences in the R.P.D. – a relatively short period in her life, but she held those memories close to her heart.

Albert lightly nudged her. "What are you thinking?" he asked softly, with a curious tilt to his head.

Jill took in a deep breath and released it in a gusty sigh. "It's strange. I feel like I'm essentially the same person as I was then, but at the same time, so much is different. I look back at the person I was six years ago and I feel like I'm looking through a stranger's eyes."

He nodded. "I know how you feel."

She studied her husband's face once more. "What about you?" It was a subject they didn't bring up much, but here, it was permissible to speak about the event that had completely turned their worlds upside down.

He turned his gaze back to scan the rocky pockmark. "Nothing in particular. There are too many memories." Jill wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her weight into him. She well understood what he meant. The tyrant leaned his head down to kiss her brow. "Ready to go?" She agreed, and they took their leave of the dusty crater.

* * *

**I totally wrote most of that when I should've been writing an essay for humanities or the story for my lang 120 or studying for the bio practical or psych exam, but I had my Muse on hand and I wasn't about to let that slip away.**

**By the way, am I the only one who thinks Luis Sera was the most awesome character in RE4? 'Cause he is. I'm just sayin'.**


	15. Recurrance

**Since I don't have the motivation to study, my boredom outlet is story now that I have my Muse back. =3 And since the action is picking up here, it should be easier for me to update decently for a while. Again, like I said for Upside Down: I dunno if you peeps noticed the last chapter I posted since I just deleted the AN and replaced it with the chapter. But yeah, there is a real ch14 up with lots of fluffliness. Go read it, preferably before you read this.  
**

**Just sayin', but the fight with Wesker at the end of Lost in Nightmares is epic. -nodnod- I was totally giggling the whole time. Especially when Chris or Jill got hit. XP **

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* * *

**

"Eagle 5 to nest, come in," Albert said into his earpiece as they trotted up the stairs.

"_Go ahead, Eagle 5."_

"We've encountered some corpses. Possibly Spencer's guards," he reported. "From the looks of it, they've been killed by… _unconventional_ means."

"_Roger that. We knew this mission wasn't going to be a cakewalk. Use extreme caution."_

"They don't need to tell us twice," Chris muttered. "I'm already on edge and we just got here."

"Same here," Jill agreed. "Spencer must be pretty twisted… this place looks exactly the same."

"He's creating a false sense of security for himself. This is just the whimsy of a fearful old man who is living in the past," Albert said harshly. He had been pensive and tense since the beginning of this mission; still, neither Jill nor Chris had ever questioned his right to be there. He had fought hard against the BSAA officials who weren't sure they wanted him in the field; but, since the AUM had essentially helped found the BSAA and he had been one of their foremost members, he eventually won. The other two ex-S.T.A.R.S. had been his staunch defenders throughout. They'd heard him tell about his dealings with Spencer and they understood how much he wanted – perhaps, needed – to be there when Spencer was apprehended. This was the main obstacle standing in the way of him putting his past with Umbrella to rest once and for all.

Conversation tapered off after that as all three of them were absorbed into their own thoughts. The first thing all three of them had noticed was that this place was a carbon copy of the Arklay mansion from so long ago. The next thing was that there were a number of bodies littered across the floor of the foyer. No gun or knife had killed these men, oh no. "It appears as though their heads were twisted off," Albert had concluded mildly. He could even see the marks were hands could have grabbed them – one on the top of the head, one around the neck. The way the skin and muscle on the stumps of their necks was mangled, it was as if their heads had been turned like screws until flesh and bone gave way. The two humans gazed upon the scene with suppressed disgust; Albert was expressionless, as always. By now he was able to control his instinctual reaction to such carnage. Even though the coppery scent of blood was so thick in the air he could barely smell anything else, he gave no outward sign to the sudden jolt of adrenaline that entered his veins.

"What kind of B.O.W. could have done that?" Jill had wondered aloud, staring in morbid fascination at the bodies.

"A very humanoid one," Albert had mentioned. "The bruises on these bodies match human handprints. It must have been very fast too, because I don't see much sign of a struggle." _In other words, something like me._ They could easily read that from his dark tone, but neither of them commented on it.

One side door led into a dining room that Jill remembered very well. She could close her eyes and imagine Barry standing just in front of the fireplace, inspecting a bloodstain on the floor. "Kinda takes you back, doesn't it?"

"To Raccoon City? Unfortunately, yeah. That's where this all started," Chris answered. If not for that…

"It's hard to believe that was eight years ago. I guess I am getting older," Jill half-chuckled.

Chris snorted. "You're not the only one."

Albert remained silent. Whatever was running through his mind wasn't something he felt needed to be shared with his companions; Jill wasn't going to press. There were some memories that would always be private. Some personal demons should never be aired.

They explored upstairs, finding nothing notable until one small room that contained a baby grand piano. "Moonlight Sonata… I remember the last time I played this," Jill said, her eyes unfocused in remembrance as she skimmed her fingers over the keys.

"Think you can still play it?" Chris asked. He glanced over his shoulder to where Albert was scrutinizing a section of the wall that was clearly movable. The tyrant leaned close, listening intently to something on the other side. Chris caught his gaze and raised an eyebrow; Albert shrugged. He couldn't hear anything.

"You mean right now? I dunno. It's been a while."

Albert threw his shoulder into the wall panel, but it didn't budge. "Playing the piano might open it," he observed. So Jill stepped up to the piano and let her hands flow across the keys, glancing at the sheet music occasionally to refresh her memory. To her pleasure, she still had the song by heart and barely needed the sheet music. As she played, the panel did indeed begin moving. The other two eyed the new alcove warily until the moving panel was flush with the surface of the floor. Jill stopped playing, Chris went to investigate the little alcove they had just discovered, and Albert froze solid.

Jill turned around, and when she noticed her husband's posture, she frowned slightly. "What's wrong, Albert?"

"Something is coming up the stairs. Keep back from the door," the tyrant hissed.

Chris trotted back into the room just in time to hear this. Soon, the mystery creature's heavy footsteps were audible to even the humans, just before a rusted anchor smashed through the door. All three trained their firearms on the Guardian of Insanity's mutated form as it lumbered into the room. "Get around it!" Jill cried. It was suicide to engage a big B.O.W. like that in such a small space. They would be cornered very easily.

Albert was the first to get the chance to dodge around it. Once he got behind it, he jumped up and swung his boot into the Guardian's head; tts skull cracked loudly and it gave a gurgling roar, and from the bulbous growth on its shoulder squirted a jet of dark, brownish blood that stung and burned when it touched his skin. He retreated quickly and pulled his water bottle from his pack to rinse the caustic fluid away. "Its blood is acidic, keep your distance," he warned.

They made it onto the staircase and away; at that point, they decided that discretion was the better part of valor and opted to just loose the creature. It looked like its body was absorbing gunfire, which meant that it would take a lot of ammo to kill. Just in case there were more, they didn't want to waste all their bullets on just one.

Several times, they encountered lock doors. Each time they did, Jill would step up with a smirk on her face and make short work of the lock. "You haven't lost your touch," Chris observed wryly.

They came to an office-like room with a computer, which Albert immediately went to. "Outdated," he remarked scathingly. "This was current when I first started working for him." Within moments, a wall panel dropped to expose a hidden doorway. As Jill and Chris moved toward it, Albert was the only one to notice the needle-like portcullis tips poking from the top of the doorjamb. "Careful!"

When the heavy metal grate began to drop, the two BSAA agents dove aside. Chris was unlucky enough to choose to duck into the newly-opened room, while Jill reeled backward. "It's a booby trap. Jill, go find the shutoff!" Albert snapped as he rushed out from behind the desk. She took off in the opposite direction without pausing to acknowledge the command. While she was doing that, Albert grasped the bars of the portcullis; in case she couldn't find a way to deactivate the trap, he was going to help Chris get out. He pried the vertical bars apart – the innermost bars ended up being pulled in half to make a space that Chris could get through quickly.

Meanwhile, Chris shot off the lock on the metal door on the other end of the booby-trapped room so that Jill could get through to shut off the mechanism. Albert saw her succeed and took a step back from the portcullis, taking a few deep breaths. Exerting enough continuous force to warp those iron bars had required tapping into the adrenaline, which had excited his system a bit too much. He was already tense enough and he didn't want to risk getting too agitated.

After that, they descended into unfamiliar territory. A foul odor rose met them as they went, causing the two humans to wrinkle their noses. It was the smell of decay; much sweeter to the tyrant's senses. He didn't mind it except for the fact that it made keeping himself calm that much harder.

"Ugh, what is that smell?" Jill coughed.

"We are standing in the middle of a stagnant puddle of water and in the presence of several corpses," Albert remarked sarcastically. "That tends to produce some strong odors. I do smell something else, though – I'm not quite sure what it is."

"I hope we don't run into whatever's making it," Chris commented.

Now it was Jill's turn for sarcasm. "And when have we ever been that lucky?"

They proceeded deeper into a dungeon-like complex, where several corpses were sprawled. As they passed them, Albert heard soft rustling sounds. "Keep an eye out for zombies," he said lowly. "I doubt we'll have to deal with many, but I wouldn't be surprised if we ran into one or two. Places like this are breeding grounds for infection. Be especially careful while we're down here."

Not a few yards down the hall, Chris and Jill were startled when they suddenly heard a hiss, then a sickly crunching sound. They turned to see Albert stepping away from a zombie that was slumping to the ground, its skull in mushy fragments after being slammed against the stone wall. "There's something else down here with us," the tyrant told them. "I hear it walking. I think it's the same kind of thing that we encountered earlier."

"There's more of them?" Chris groaned.

Soon after that, they got to see the Guardian when the creature smashed its way through a thin wall of packed dirt and wooden spars. "Where the fuck do they get the anchors?!" Chris called incredulously as they backed away from the Guardian's steady advance, firing relentlessly into its decaying body.

Soon enough, the creature went down and stayed there. Albert almost wished he had something on hand to take a sample of this B.O.W.'s flesh, to see what had changed it, for it looked like nothing else he'd seen before. Not quite t-virus, not quite G. Not even like his own.

They moved on, taking out a few zombies and another Guardian or two as they went. They made it through the basement prison and were proceeding through a garden when, all of a sudden, the wooden bridge they were crossing disintegrated under their feet. Both humans went tumbling, but Albert's reflexes were quicker. He grasped a few spars of wood that were still stable and clung to them – but his weight was too much, and they too gave out. At least he was quick enough to kick off the various obstacles in his way and land on his feet. Somewhere out of his field of vision, he heard more splashes that meant that his compatriots had also landed.

"Chris, Jill, are you all right?" he called into his earpiece.

"I'm alive," Chris groaned.

"I'm fine… but I lost most of my gear," Jill reported.

"Same here," Chris sighed.

"I've still got most of mine. Listen, the two of you, try to find a way out; look for each other. I'll try to find you as well."

Albert paused for a moment once the other two had voiced agreement to the plan; eyes half-lidded, he extended his other senses to take stock of the area. He located one of them fairly nearby, and as soon as he locked onto the direction of the sloshing sounds, he made for it. He found Chris first.

"There's another one of those big B.O.W. roaming around," the marksman warned. "I heard it coming after me."

Albert cocked his head to listen, and sure enough he heard the rattling of chains and grinding of metal on stone. "All right. For now let's avoid it since we're low on weapons." He loaned Chris the rifle slung across his shoulders. "I think Jill is in the other direction anyway. Let's go."

They trotted through the murky water, occasionally slipping on a slimy patch of algae underwater. Soon, Albert heard Jill's footsteps on the raised platform nearby, and she jumped down to meet them. "One of the creatures is around here somewhere," she commented.

"We know," Albert said. He studied their surroundings briefly and his eyes lit on the nearby crank. "Chris, can you work that?" He pointed to it. "If that does what I think it will, we have an easy solution." Chris turned the crank and, slowly, the platform rose out of the water to reveal wickedly sharp spikes. "Good. Now, who wants to be bait to lure it under there?" Before he could say any more, Jill slid under it and advanced toward where she knew the Guardian to be.

It waded toward her and she backed away, but stayed close enough to tease the beast into continuing. "It's in position, Jill," Albert called. She wasted no time in exiting the spike-ceilinged cavern. "Now!" Chris released the crank. A growing rumble caused the Guardian to look around, confused; then the platform came crashing down onto it.

They moved through the sewers, trying to find a way out; they had to repeat the same performance a few more times to kill the Guardians that regularly appeared to harass them. Some of the creatures tried wedging their anchors in place to hold the platforms away, but a well-placed bullet from Albert's handgun dislodged them.

Eventually, they figured out how to escape the sewers. They made it back up to a point where they could see the sky – clouded over and lit up by periodic flashes of lightning – and found more guards whose deaths seemed similar to those in the foyer. Chris and Jill took advantage of the fallen guards' handguns.

"Be especially cautious from now on," Albert said darkly.

"Yeah, I'm starting to get a bad feeling," Chris agreed.

They advanced quickly down the hall. To Albert's oversensitive ears, heightened by adrenaline, the humans' footsteps echoed loudly against the marble floors and wood-paneled walls. They came to a majestic double door and flattened themselves against it. Albert listened in briefly and nodded. He heard a heartbeat – someone was there. The trio exchanged glances and, as one, threw their weight into the doors, which swung open to admit them.

Immediately, Albert tensed. Time seemed to slow down around him as his body and brain switched fully into viral speed – he needed to work at his optimum. On the floor, oozing blood all over the carpet, was the frail body of Lord Spencer. His wheelchair remained at the top of the dais while another, unexpected figure stood in front of the massive windows. Nathan Young turned around and grinned wolfishly at the BSAA agents. Albert watched as the brown in the other tyrant's slitted eyes was overtaken by muddy infrareds that the humans couldn't see. It was abundantly clear to both of them that this would predominantly be a battle between the two superhumans, for neither Chris nor Jill would be able to keep up.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Nathan taunted. "You three look a little worse for wear."

Chris gritted his teeth and his hand tensed, ready to squeeze the trigger of his borrowed handgun. Jill kept her hard eyes on Nathan. Albert holstered his own gun; he knew it was useless. Bullets were nothing to tyrants. This would have to be a hand-to-hand fight.

Nathan prowled closer. "I must say, I'm surprised it took this long for the BSAA to track down old man Spencer. I think it's worth the wait since I've got you three wonders here to play with, though." The grin widened.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Chris spat. "You're supposed to be dead."

"Death tends to be temporary in this line of business," Albert remarked softly. "He's like me, Chris." He reached up to pull the sunglasses from his face. Chris, who had glanced over at him, noticed that his eyes were darker and the normal rim of gold was absent: now, Wesker's eyes glowed pure bloodred that was edged with darker shades. Chris took a step away from the tyrant; he knew what it meant when the ex-S.T.A.R.S. Captain got that look about him.

"How astute of you," Nathan sneered.

Albert's knuckles crunched as he clenched his fists. Suddenly, there was a rush of air, and Wesker vanished from Chris' side. The two humans skipped to one side as Nathan blurred out of sight as well. They both kept their weapons up, but they had no idea which darkish blur was which tyrant between the few, split-second breaks when they came out of viral speed. It seemed like they would ignore the humans – that was, until Nathan suddenly appeared between them and dealt Chris a punishing kick to the chest that sent the marksman skidding across the floor and into a bookshelf. Jill whirled to fire at him, but her bullet buried itself uselessly in the floor as Nathan danced aside.

The fight proceeded in a similar manner for several minutes. The humans dodged blows aimed at them and shot at Nathan when they got the opportunity. Albert concentrated on trying to get and keep his hands on Nathan; however, he was distracted at several key moments by having to shove one of his teammates out of the way. Still, he managed to land a few solid blows: several hits in various locations on the older tyrant's body that audibly broke the bones underneath, and once, when a shattered ribcage had Nathan on the floor, he neatly broke the other tyrant's neck. He was going for a strike that would have caved in Nathan's chest, when his legs were knocked out from under him.

Nathan suddenly pulled a pistol from the holster under his coat and, while he was grappling with Wesker, brought the muzzle to the other tyrant's brow and fired. Albert collapsed limply. There was a lull in the fighting as Nathan retreated to the dais, while the two humans ran over to stand in front of their downed comrade. The assault began again.

Nathan knocked the gun from Chris' hand and tossed the human aside, then did the same for Jill. He had her up against a column, squeezing her throat mercilessly in one hand. Chris tackled him; Nathan released Jill, but turned his attention to the marksman. Jill recovered and emptied her last clip of bullets into this air, then went at him with her knife; he tossed her easily into a bookcase. With Nathan's hand tight around his throat, Chris was dragged harshly across the long wooden table and thrown onto the dais.

Wesker twitched spasmodically as his face finished healing; slowly, he sat up, shaking his head to clear it and reorient. Jill struggled to her feet, gasping. She saw Chris being held in the air by his throat – saw Nathan's hand curl into a claw. Her heart stopped. "NO!" She forced her oxygen-deprived limbs to work and sprinted headlong for the tyrant about to end the life of her best friend and brother.

Albert fully came to and lifted his head just in time to see Jill hit Nathan in a flying tackle. Nathan released Chris, and he and Jill crashed through the window. Chris dropped to the floor, choking and gasping. Jill disappeared out the window, her arms still locked around Nathan's ribs. There was no time to even think – Albert sprang into motion.

The next thing Chris knew, he saw a dark blur fly over him and out the window. He rolled onto his hands and knees and scrambled over to the edge. "Albert! Jill!" _Shit!_ He scrambled to his feet and pelted for the door, praying to God that he could find a way down in time.

The cliff was sheer, solid rock. Jill managed to notice that moments before a fist crashed into her temple. Her grip around Nathan's body loosened, but he grabbed her before the rushing wind could cause her to drift out of his reach. A jutting ledge was in their path; his body struck it with enough force to knock loose a few chunks of stone.

Wesker was falling with only marginally more control; then again, that was hardly the main thing on his mind. For once, he wasn't really thinking. He just knew that he was going to keep Jill alive and away from Nathan, or kill himself trying. There was no other option and no other plan. He noticed the protruding ledges and kicked off of them, using them to propel him faster, get him closer to the enemy that had his dear heart.

Nathan had a large chunk of rock in hand, which he threw with all his might at Wesker. The other tyrant didn't have any way to dodge; the rock shattered the bones of his face and knocked him out cold. Albert went limp and fell like a ragdoll. Since he could no longer control his fall, he collided with several protruding rocks, striking them and rolling off, only to soon meet a rock several meters below.

Eventually, the solid rock wall gave way to a slightly less sheer incline with some amount of vegetation able to get a foothold. The scree slope caught Albert's battered body and sent it into a roll until he encountered a bush sturdy enough to withstand the force of his landing. Rain from the growing storm pelted his damaged form until, with injuries all over his body radiating their healing ache, he came back around. He disentangled himself from the bush – going skidding several more meters until he found a protruding spar of rock – and looked around, confused for a moment as to what in the world had just happened. Then he remembered why he'd dived out of a window and his gaze sharpened. The random lightning flashes caused moments of blindness for his sensitive, dark-adjusted eyes, making it considerably more difficult to see anything.

His earpiece was long gone, as was the rest of his gear that hadn't been attached to his person. His clothing was ripped and torn and he was trembling slightly from the sudden rigors he had been forced to endure. A full viral-speed fight with another tyrant was draining on his reserves, as was the rapid healing of the many-times-over fatal injuries he'd sustained from falling. He jumped from his ledge to another one further down and then to another, until he reached the ground.

He was tired, disoriented, and the conditions were bad for searches. They wouldn't be able to get anywhere until the storm passed, and by then it would be too late. He hadn't been able to save her and now it was going to be practically impossible. Even if she did survive the fall, Nathan would have recovered by now, and if the other tyrant hated him as much as he thought, then doubtlessly he would take Jill with him. Albert snarled wordlessly in frustration and smashed his fist into a nearby boulder, cracking it and the bones in his hand loudly. The pain barely registered in his mind: he was still on an adrenaline high.

Though he knew it to be useless, Albert started casting about for any signs of Nathan or Jill. He needed to do something or he would go mad. Finding nothing in the immediate vicinity on the shoreline beneath the cliff, he started working his way up. The rocks were slick with rain and his gloves tended to slip on them, but he soldiered on. The activity helped to burn off the worst of the adrenaline-fueled agitation; still he didn't stop. The anger and frustration and resentment drained away, replaced by a steely sort of determination that would drive him to his limits if someone didn't pull him away. He was going to find _something_, dammit, storm or no storm. He _had_ to find something. Some sign, it didn't matter what. Even blood would be better than finding nothing.

Time blurred into nothing while he jumped, skidded and slipped his way to and fro across the slope, gradually working his way up until he reached the near-vertical wall of solid rock. Given that his energy had been sapped, he didn't have the strength to advance any farther. If any trace of Jill had been left, it would likely be on the gentler incline he'd just scaled – even through the stubborn drive to go on, he realized that he could do little more. He'd searched as hard as he could given the circumstances and found nothing. Wesker wasn't in the habit of deluding himself, so even though he wanted to stridently deny the facts right in front of his face, he couldn't. She was gone without a trace and he had a good idea as to why.

If he'd managed to survive that fall, then Nathan would have as well. Especially since Nathan had been able to avoid most obstacles, whereas Albert, in unconsciousness, had collided with everything in his path. Albert had noticed the grip Nathan had had on Jill's body. He easily put two and two together: whether or not Jill had survived the fall – which she could have if Nathan was protecting her from too many injuries – it was likely that Nathan had her. Nathan hated him and Chris enough to spite them this way.

Wesker stood on a ledge high off the ground with fists clenched and eyes blazing. His dislike of the older tyrant had, in the space of a few minutes, increased exponentially to the point that the next time he saw Nathan, all bets were off. The man _was_ going to die, preferably painfully, and there would be nothing anyone could do to stop that. A loud _crack_ echoed out from the cliffside and across the rain-specked bay that extended for several miles beyond the crescent-shaped beach that hugged the cliff's feet – Albert had smashed his fist into the rock wall beside him in his rage. A low growl bubbled up from the depths of his chest as he retracted the fist. The pain from his shattered knuckles was transient, but as it flared up and quickly faded into nothing, it brought him down from his rage. He was too exhausted, both physically and mentally, to keep that level of anger up.

The rain soaked into his hair, which had already been plastered ingloriously to his head with locks splayed haphazardly. It dropped into his eyes and he blinked against the invasive moisture as he turned to look across the water. Lightning flashed above him, blinding him for a few moments, followed by a rolling clap of thunder that drowned out all other sounds. If no bodies could be found, there was a chance that Jill had been left behind and allowed to drift out to sea, to be devoured by marine scavengers; but Albert doubted that. He was sure without quite knowing why that Nathan had taken her.

He hadn't been keeping track of time since beginning the freefall from the library window high above, so he was surprised to hear a helicopter approaching. Chris must have made it out of the mansion and radioed for help. They had left the rest of the team with the helicopter nearby as backup when they entered the mansion to take Spencer into custody. He heard, over the roar of the copter's blade chopping at the air, Chris shouting his name and Jill's. Poor Chris. Surely the marksman had realized that Jill probably wouldn't have survived, and yet he still called out for her. A strong light shone from the side of the helicopter and scanned the beach and cliffside – searching, he knew, for some sign of life.

Albert cupped his hands around his mouth. "OVER HERE!" he bellowed, knowing it would be difficult for the humans to hear much over the thunder and the chopper. He repeated his call several times and hopped from rock to rock closer to where he judged the lights would pass. Soon enough, he had to squint his eyes against the floodlight. Chris cried out in relief. "Hold the helicopter in place, I can jump to you!" Albert roared, gesturing to the pilot.

Considering how close it was hovering to the cliffside, it was hard for the pilot to keep it still. Albert wasted no time in gathering himself and leaped across to latch onto the chopper's skids. As the pilot maneuvered to a safer distance from the cliff, Albert hauled himself wearily into the helicopter.

"Are you all right?" Chris asked anxiously. "Do you know where Jill is? We haven't seen her or Nathan."

"I'll live," the tyrant said curtly. "And there's no sign of the others. I searched as well as I could and couldn't even find a scrap of cloth. I'm pretty sure Nathan made it out alive, so chances are he has her. Either that or she washed out to sea."

Chris swore colorfully. "Dammit! Why, Jill? Why did you do something that stupid?" he growled under his breath. "Damn that bastard Nathan…" He turned toward Albert, scowling fiercely. "We have to look. He may not have taken her… she could be still on the beach, dying –"

"I just said I already looked, Chris," Albert snapped. "I scoured the whole stretch of shore that she could've fallen on from that window and the cliff above it until I couldn't climb any farther. If she was there I would have found her."

The marksman eyed his former Captain harshly. "Are you giving up?"

Still unhidden by his usual sunglasses, Albert's eyes flashed red. "No, Chris, I am not giving up. Don't you _ever_ accuse me of that," he hissed. He barely stopped himself from lashing out, but the way he was leaning forward menacingly was enough to make Chris take a step back. "I am simply stating the facts. I did everything I could given the conditions, Christopher – did you think I wouldn't? Did you think even for a _second_ that I wouldn't do everything I could to save her?"

Chris held up his hands soothingly. "No, I didn't. Sorry, Al." Maybe that had been a stupid thing to say, but at the time, Chris hadn't known how close Albert had been to losing it. The tyrant was so good at controlling himself that the few times he almost lost his cool, it always startled Chris. Wesker was the only nonhuman he'd encountered since the Arklay Mansion that truly frightened him anymore.

Albert took a step back and sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes. He was silent for several moments while he struggled to calm back down.

"How likely do you think it is that Nathan has her?" Chris asked at length.

"Highly likely. If I survived that fall, I know he did as well. Whether or not she made it through alive, I'm fairly certain he took her – he has enough of a grudge against both of us to give him plenty of reason. If the official search doesn't come up with any bodies, that's going to be my assumption." He ground his teeth hard enough to be audible. "And if that turns out to be the case… Nathan will not be alive for much longer."

Chris suppressed a shudder at the dark, ominous tone in Albert's voice.

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**Dun dun DUNNN! I almost feel bad for my random OC villain now that Wesker's out for his blood. =o**


	16. Gravedigger

**OMIGOD I'M FUCKING FREE. Cue Alice Cooper singing in the background. (I dunno how many of my readers listen to Alice Cooper enough to get the reference but oh well)**

**This chapter might be kinda short and filler-y, but that's what you get when there's a three-year gap in the timeline. Also, I don't want to start in Kijuju in the middle of a chapter, so you'll have to wait that much longer. I know, I'm horrible. **

**By the way, if there's anything in the plot that confuses you, feel free to shoot me a PM or include it in your review. I am planning on rewriting this once I get everything else currently on my plate finished, so the more constructive input I get now, the better. I know you're thinking I'm a little nuts for wanting to rewrite something I'm not even done with, but I **_**really**_** like this plot and I know I can improve it a lot – especially the beginning (expect a complete overhaul and much griping). I have a tendency not to have much more than a general outline for my plots when I start and that often comes back to bite me in the ass later in the story. Like when my main villain has little character development to speak of… **

**No lie, I started to choke up a little writing this. I named the chapter after the song that came up on my iTunes when I started writing – it's by Dave Matthews Band and it's amazing. Go listen to it right now.**

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Three months. Three months after that stormy night in Europe when one of his worst nightmares came true, and it was raining again. After almost everyone else had already drifted off, Albert lingered behind. He didn't care that he was soaked to the bone by cold autumn rain. He stood with head tilted down and sunglasses in hand to let him gaze with unveiled eyes at the small, modest block of stone squatting among the dead grass of the cemetery.

_Jill Valentine Wesker_

_1974 – 2006_

Footsteps approached him from behind; he knew it was only Chris, so he didn't bother to move. Chris put a hand on his shoulder. "Albert, we should go. We've been here long enough." They were the only ones left from the funeral service.

For a few moments, it seemed like Chris' advice would be ignored. However, after inhaling deeply and expelling a quiet sigh, Albert turned away from the headstone. He and Chris wound their way through the cemetery and out to where their cars waited, beaded with rain and isolated in the otherwise empty lane. Chris paused for a moment to watch Albert get into his sleek little Audi TT before slumping wearily into the driver's seat of his Cherokee and starting it up.

Chris could tell even through Albert's collected façade that the tyrant was suffering more than most people thought. He'd had one or two others ask him, incredulous, if Wesker even _cared_ that his wife was missing and presumed dead. It made Chris sad to have to explain to these people that yes, Albert did care, but he was very good at hiding it. He knew that it was only in Albert's nature to behave this way, and he knew that the ex-Captain did allow himself to mourn in private, which were the only reasons he wasn't saying anything about it.

He was glad that Albert at least gave someone else a glimpse into what he was going through. Now that Jill was gone, Chris had become his main confidant; he never said much or very often, but occasionally they would meet for a drink and listen to each other talk. It gave the marksman some solace to do so, and he was pretty sure it helped Albert as well. He hoped it did. Of anyone, Albert had the most right to be distraught over the whole affair. Chris could only imagine the smack in the face that mission had been: an old enemy they had presumed to be dead suddenly showed up – as another superhuman at that – and stole from him not only the chance to get his hands on Spencer at last, but also the most precious thing in his life. Certainly it had been a smack in the face to Chris.

After that ill-fated mission, the two of them had stayed in Europe to aid the search. Once again, they had to fight against their BSAA superiors who didn't want a tyrant roaming around unchecked in another country, but they capitulated eventually when Wesker pointed out that he would be more effective at search-and-rescue than any human, canine or machine. The tyrant had barely slept or eaten in the first weeks – not that Chris had been much different – but as time went on and the futility of their search became more and more obvious, Chris saw a dimming in Albert's intensity. Just before the BSAA had finally given up on the search, it seemed to Chris like Albert was simply going through the motions of the search, without having any real heart in it. And he knew why.

They had both corroborated in emphasizing to their BSAA superiors that Nathan was going to be a significant threat. Their warning, despite the consistent assurances that Nathan would be on the top of the wanted list, went largely unheeded. The BSAA, for all that they were used to dealing with all kinds of B.O.W., couldn't seem to grasp that it was possible for another tyrant like Albert to exist. All their past research pointed to the fact that the chances of such a thing happening were so slim as to verge on impossibility. Albert agreed, but he also knew that Umbrella had turned the near-impossible into a commonality long ago, and such things could be done again. He was willing to allow that Nathan had been flying under the radar for so long that he was going to be incredibly hard to find, and they had more pressing immediate concerns; but that didn't change the fact that there had to be a _reason_ behind Nathan's movements, hidden though they were. He remembered Nathan's nature and he knew the other tyrant to be a slippery, conniving character. Most high-ranking Umbrella researchers had to be, to have gotten anywhere in the corporation.

So while the BSAA put the investigation into Nathan's whereabouts on the back-burner, Albert made it a personal side-project. When he wasn't working on his current research, he had gotten permission from his superiors to use the BSAA's considerable intelligence resources to do his own investigation. He also had a few old contacts he could still call on, though covertly; usually he wouldn't stoop to going behind the BSAA, but this was too damn important to him to play by the rules. Chris had a suspicion that Albert was doing so, but he didn't have concrete proof and anyway, he wasn't sure whether to disapprove of the methods employed or to approve of the efforts to track Nathan down.

Two of the white Cherokee's tires hydroplaned for a moment on a deep puddle forming alongside the curb where the road dipped down slightly, kicking up a sheet of water that reared off the ground and crashed back onto the cement and asphalt, leaving ripples in their wake as the Jeep continued on. He slowed down enough to turn off the street and into the short driveway lined with parking spaces. The cars taking up those spaces had their fenders right up against the sidewalk that hugged the front of each apartment building and wound around the complex. Chris passed a wide variety of vehicles, from pickup trucks to corvettes, before pulling into a space next to the familiar black Audi. He got out of his car, slammed the door and pressed a button on the clicker to lock it. Just as the Cherokee's headlights flashed obediently at him, a modest silver Corolla pulled up in the space next to his car. Chris lingered in the rain – he was already soaked, so why the hell not – as Sherry got out of the Corolla. She trotted up to him with a wan smile and they retreated to cover under the overhang.

"You just left?" Sherry asked, her voice weary, as if she already knew the answer. She probably did.

Chris nodded. "He probably would've been perfectly willing to stay longer if I hadn't intervened." He ran a hand through his short, dark hair which was plastered to his head with rain and sighed.

Sherry didn't look surprised. "That sounds like him," she agreed. "It worries me sometimes. I don't think he's going to let this go, Chris. Ever. I think it's going to eat at him for the rest of his life. Whether or not he finds Nathan."

The marksman chuckled darkly. "I don't think there's any uncertainty, Sherry. He'll find Nathan one day. What else he finds remains to be seen…"

She raised an eyebrow quizzically. "What do you mean?"

They hadn't had the chance to enlighten Sherry or anyone else to their theory, given the fact that they had been in Europe the whole time the search had been under way, and hadn't been in the States long before the funeral took place. "Just because the BSAA has declared her dead doesn't mean she is," Albert stated, expression and tone blank. He had emerged from the apartment and was standing at the top of the stairs, listening to the conversation. "Come on, then, come out of the rain." He turned and went back into his apartment, followed by Chris and Sherry.

Albert had laid out a towel for Chris by the door, which he gratefully took to scrub the worst of the damp from his hair. Sherry closed the door behind her and looked around the apartment. It looked like it hadn't been lived in for months, which while understandable, made the feeling of loss even more intense. If not for Jill's disappearance, this place wouldn't have been abandoned for so long; wouldn't feel so empty. She sighed and slumped onto the couch.

Sherry had come to love Jill as she did Uncle Albert. Though she was grown now, already working on her MD – just as blindingly intelligent as her parents, though more inclined to applying her skills toward practicing medicine rather than researching – she still thought of Albert as a second father. Jill, by virtue of her relationship with him and the fact that she was always so kind to the girl, had attained a similar status in Sherry's world. Just as Chris was like an uncle and Claire a sister. The whole AUM had become her extended family. Things had changed a lot since 2003 when the movement dissolved and everyone went their separate ways, but the close-knit bonds would never truly fade.

Albert emerged from the kitchen with a few glasses in hand. Sherry shook her head in disapproval, but she didn't have the heart to deny either of her elders what little solace they could find. Chris accepted his drink with a murmur of thanks and remained standing – he didn't want to drip all over the furniture. Albert had already changed into dry clothes. "You're welcome to borrow a change of clothes," the tyrant remarked to Chris.

"Nah thanks – I won't be staying long enough. I just wanted to make sure you were okay before I headed back. Claire's probably waiting for me at my place." Albert nodded in acceptance. Everyone had been hit hard.

Albert sat next to Sherry on the couch and took a sip of his scotch. Chris knocked back the remainder of the whiskey he'd been handed and, with a cough and a chiding from Sherry to be careful, he took his leave. "If I get into a wreck from one glass of whiskey, you're allowed to chew me out, Sherry," the marksman chuckled on the way out. "But until then I think I can handle myself. Take care – both of you."

Albert absentmindedly listened as Chris tromped down the stairs and over to his car, then the engine start up and pull away. He sighed quietly and leaned his head back against the backrest of the couch. Sherry touched his shoulder; he opened his eyes, but remained staring at the ceiling. She'd never seen him like this – he seemed completely bereft of energy. He usually gave the impression of a languid panther: at rest, but at the slightest provocation, ready to spring into action. Now he looked… deflated. Defeated.

"Uncle?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes, Sherry?" The world-weariness that saturated his tone made her bite the inside of her lip. She hesitated to bring the topic up, given his mood. He lifted his head and turned to regard her. "What is it, dear heart?"

"I was just wondering what you meant earlier," she admitted.

He heaved another soft sigh. "How much were you told about what happened?"

Sherry shrugged slightly. "Not much. Just that you fought somebody you didn't expect to be there and the end result was falling out of a window. I've been kept largely in the dark – the other BSAA refused to tell me anything and you and Chris have been too busy to fully enlighten me."

Albert grimaced contritely. "I'm sorry for that, Sherry." He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. "I thought that someone would at least give you a brief summary."

Sherry hugged him back. "It's okay… you had better things to do."

After a moment, Albert picked up the narrative. "For the most part that mission was fairly simple. We ran into a few new B.O.W., but those could be taken care of easily enough. Once we had searched almost the entire premises we found where Spencer was hiding – but by the time we got there, he'd already been killed. Do you remember Nathan Young from the Organization?"

Sherry frowned in thought. "Vaguely."

"Well, Nathan had killed Spencer. It became clear that Nathan was a tyrant like me – that's the only way he could be alive right now. During that raid to rescue Steve from the Organization in 1999 we killed him – but what I think happened was that shortly before or after dying, his body was exposed to some kind of virus from the lab where he was killed. Either that or he deliberately infected himself, but I can't see any way he could have anticipated the attack on his lab with enough accuracy to infect himself in time." He shook his head. "No matter how it happened, Nathan was there and he was enough of a threat to give me a run for my money. Chris and Jill got caught up in the crossfire several times – Nathan managed to incapacitate me for long enough to get to them. He was about to kill Chris, but Jill ran up and tackled him out of a window. I followed. Nathan knocked me out before I could get to him, and by the time I woke up there was no sign of either of them. It was storming, which worked in his favor and against us. I'm not sure how long it took for Chris to get out of the mansion and get the rest of the team to come look, but in the time it took for them to pick me up, it was already too late. In the three months we've spent searching, we found no trace of them on the cliff or the beach or in the surrounding ocean."

Sherry was clever enough to put two and two together. "You think he took her rather than leaving her to die?"

"I'm almost certain. He had a solid grip on her before I blacked out, so he may have helped her to survive. Whether she's alive or dead, I'm sure that he took her. He hates me and Chris enough to do that just to spite us." He sighed heavily, and abruptly all the anger that had rekindled went out of him. Albert almost didn't want to think of the purpose Nathan could have had in keeping Jill alive, if that had been the case.

Sherry leaned into his side. "I wish I could do something to help… did you tell the BSAA about it? Surely they –"

"The BSAA is going to keep an eye out for Nathan from now on, but if he continues to lay low like he has been, there is little they will be able to do. As long as he stays under the radar with his activities it would take effort and manpower that the BSAA can't spare to track him down. So far, for them, he has been a fairly minor threat in the face of all the bioterrorism going on around the world," Albert said wearily. "And admittedly, if the circumstances weren't what they were, I would agree. As it is, I don't think they entirely believe that he's become a tyrant, so they don't consider him as dangerous as I do. _I_ think that is a mistake, but there isn't much I can do about their naïveté concerning Nathan."

Sherry raised an eyebrow. "But you're going to track him down yourself, I take it?" She knew him too well not to figure that out.

A dark look passed over the tyrant's face. "If it's the last thing I do," he growled.

She sighed slightly. "I know nothing will dissuade you, and I'm all for looking for him, but please, Uncle, don't let this completely take up your life. I know you, and this has the potential to turn into an obsession. Please don't let that happen."

She knew him too well. Albert tightened his arm around her slightly. "I won't."

* * *

For all of them, the years passed slowly. As time went on, even Albert began losing hope of finding Jill alive. They saw a change in the tyrant: he slipped deeper into misanthropy. He continued being polite to his coworkers and friends, but anyone who knew him even a little could tell that he only tolerated the company. He became moody and more short-tempered. He also threw himself into his work and investigation: Chris was sure that the man only stopped working to sleep or eat. He never took sick days and Chris was hard pressed to get him to take holidays off. It was a point of frustration for the marksman, but he never stopped trying to make the oft-stubborn tyrant come out of his hole.

"We want to at least reassure ourselves that you're still alive and relatively sane, Al," Chris insisted over the phone one evening. "It's just dinner out. That's it. You can tolerate that, can't you? Claire's got time off and Sherry's on break; I know they'd like to see you. Sherry's kinda worried about you, but I'm sure you knew that."

"I was aware of that, thank you Chris," Albert answered with a hint of testiness in his voice.

"That should tell you something: you need to surface every once in a while. We won't demand much besides your presence. Okay?" To Chris, sometimes it felt like dealing with an antisocial kid. He would have run out of sympathy already if not for the fact that he knew this sort of behavior was in Albert's nature and he wasn't just pouting. It was hard to let go of someone you weren't sure was dead. Despite the increasingly large gap in time, there was always that uncertainty. There was room for enough of a spark of hope that at once kept them going and at the same time kept the wound from fully healing. Chris felt the same, so he couldn't blame the tyrant entirely. Albert wasn't the type to let transgressions against him go easily.

"I'll be there," Albert signed.

.***.

"Hey! You actually deigned to mingle with us mere mortals, I'm flattered," Claire remarked playfully when Albert arrived at the restaurant and took a seat. "I was starting to wonder if you'd dropped off the face of the earth." She shook her head. "Though I suppose we've all been busy. With all the paranoia about that place in Africa turning into another Raccoon, Terrasave's got us running around investigating. What's the BSAA got to say about the situation? I know you've got a branch in that region."

"That division is investigating, but they've got enough on their plates as it is. I've heard word that they're gonna call in agents from other branches to help," Chris said.

"They wouldn't be able to handle it on their own," Albert agreed. "There's more than just a bed of terrorists festering in there."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you've been finding lately?"

"Yes, but even if I hadn't, I would make the same statement." His voice took on a dark tone that drew everyone's curiosity. Albert leaned back in his chair as his eyes took on a distant expression. "There are very few people alive who are privy to this information, but the very first base Umbrella ever built was in that area. It was one of the best-kept secrets of the whole company."

A look of intense curiosity had overtaken Sherry's expression. "So how do you know about it?"

"Both of my parents went with Spencer, Marcus, Ashford and Bailey to help construct and run it. They had little choice and brought me with them. About a year after that my mother died when the Progenitor virus was leaked, and my father sent me back to the States. He stayed working there for some time and then returned to the US with the research and Progenitor samples Spencer sent back. It continued to exist in secret until probably 1998, and when it was shut down Spencer killed off most everyone still living who knew of its existence. The only reason he let me live was that I'd been five or six years old at the time." He snorted.

Claire's face was a study in ill-suppressed disgust. "So you think that someone stumbled on that old base and whatever was left in it?"

"It's possible. The only records of it would have been on the UMF-13 and we have possession of that, so I doubt anyone would have known it was there before they found it. It's possible that an old employee could have found those records, but they were in Raccoon until Sergei extracted the Red Queen and took them to Russia." He shrugged. "Either way. The source of the Progenitor virus remains there since no one could figure out how to move it successfully, and some of the old research might still be there. Anyone with any knowledge of Umbrella's history would be able to figure out what it was and I have no doubt that anyone with interest in B.O.W. would consider that place a goldmine."

Chris looked grim. "Have you told anyone about that?"

"When I first joined the BSAA they all but interrogated me about Umbrella, and I gave them everything I knew. They were warned of that base's existence and since they now have the UMF-13 disc we retrieved, they have all the information Sergei saved." Albert looked slightly discontent – he would have preferred to hang onto that disc himself, but there would have been no way to avoid handing it over to the BSAA.

"Why do you look less than happy about that?" Claire inquired. "The info is safe with the BSAA."

"Safe is a relative term. The BSAA is controlled by the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium, and to be blunt I do not trust anyone in that organization."

"You aren't a very trusting person, I know, but really? It was put in place by the UN." Claire looked askance at the tyrant. That wasn't to say that they all didn't have a healthy wariness of anything related to _pharmaceuticals_, but this seemed a little too cynical.

He snorted. "I learned early on not to put any faith in large institutions, and the ones who run the Consortium are little different from Umbrella when you get down to it. You were caught up in the Harvardville outbreak – Tricell Inc. bought out WilPharma and Tricell is part of the Consortium. The BSAA may have good intentions but they are limited by what their puppet masters tell them to do."

It was a sobering thought; one Claire wanted to deny, but the more she thought about it, the more sense it made. They'd all seen too much duplicity to believe in coincidence anymore. An uneasy silence fell while they picked at their food. After a few minutes, Claire laughed wanly. "Well isn't that depressing! Does anyone have anything positive to share before we all start to drown in the hopelessness of it all?" This elicited a few chuckles from around the table. Conversation turned more light-hearted for the rest of the evening.

The chance to get together and relax for an evening was a welcome respite for all of them – even Albert admitted to himself that it was a good thing he'd let Chris talk him into coming. He felt bad for being enough of a recluse that his loved ones were beginning to worry – but at the same time, he wasn't sure what else they wanted from him. They knew his nature well enough that they shouldn't be surprised. Perhaps they had just gotten so used to the more easygoing side of his personality that having Jill in his life had cultivated. They were actually the few people on the planet who had been able to see that aspect: most everyone else just saw the no-nonsense misanthrope. Albert inwardly sighed.

When the check came, he took it from the waiter's hands before anyone could ask it to be split. He received a few indignant looks and smirked slightly. "You three insisted that I be social, so you're going to have to deal with it. Consider this a thank-you for putting up with me all this time."

Other than a little playful bickering over the check, that was that. Sherry excused herself soon after that, citing that she had an early start the next morning. As she left, she leaned down to hug Albert fiercely. "You don't need to thank us, Uncle. We love you," she muttered quietly. He smiled fondly and returned the embrace.

Claire was the next to leave; she gave both of them an obligatory hug and got a promise for them to take care of themselves. Chris and Albert lingered for a little while longer after that, and their topic of discussion shifted back to the problems in Africa.

"Have a look at this," Albert instructed, handing Chris a folded sheet of printer paper. "It's an email I got from one of my contacts." He smirked darkly as Chris accepted the paper. "I think it will make you more inclined to accept any requests from the BSAA to go to Africa."

Chris skimmed over the message briefly and then, his interest piqued, carefully read it over. "Are you sure this source is trustworthy?" he asked.

"I'm willing to vouch for the validity of his information," the tyrant affirmed.

Chris sucked in a deep breath and sighed, reading over the message once more. "Damn. If this is right, I wouldn't be surprised if something big happens out there and they send in international agents."

"More like they'll send _you_ in," Albert remarked wryly. "You're one of, if not _the_ most experienced field operatives they have in terms of biohazard situations."

Chris snorted, but he knew how right Albert was. He thought to himself that it would be best to send someone like him in, if the situation was really going to turn into another Raccoon. "You've got a point. And I take it you're going to pull some strings and get them to send you in with me?" He knew the tyrant too well to think otherwise.

"Naturally." Albert accepted the printout back from Chris, and as the paper changed hands Chris noticed something. He saw a glint of metal from Albert's left hand: he still wore his wedding ring. Albert hadn't bothered to stop wearing it; the marksman had been aware of the gesture, but it still struck him. After all this time…

* * *

**Soo the RE5 part is coming up next and I has a question for you guys. Sheva will be a minor character in the beginning but I'm tempted to kill her off because she's largely unnecessary and kind of pointless (obviously Wesker's going along with Chris to get his woman back because **_**no one**_** messes with Wesker's girl.) But since I don't wanna bother putting up another poll that no one will notice, I'll just ask you to put in your reviews whether I should keep Sheva tagging along or let her die. And if you have any ideas as to when/how to kill her off, I'm all ears. =3 I'm tempted to have her die or scamper sometime during that (really fucking annoying) section of chapter 2 where you're at the turrets the whole damn time. The Ndesu fight is such a bitch with those damn things, I swear to God. o_e;**

**But yeah. If I were you, I'd look forward to the next chapters. There will be some serious ass-kicking going on. And I will also go through and fix a few details about RE5 that made no sense to me… I know some of these things had to happen that way for the sake of the gameplay, but they make no sense plot-wise. So I shall make them more logical. Because for some reason, even when I know it's fiction, I hate it when a story doesn't make sense. MAYBE THAT'S WHY I HATE TWILIGHT SO MUCH but we won't go into that.**


	17. Welcome to Africa

**AND SO IT BEGINS! This is going to be rather entertaining – I hope you all enjoy this part. ^_^ The first chapter is mostly in Sheva's point of view for no particular reason other than to get a look at generally how other people see our favorite tyrant. And I'm setting the stage for Sheva's future abandonment if I decide that death isn't the best way to get rid of her. Because she will end up going one way or another. Remember to tell me when/how if you haven't already! I'm open to ideas for killing her off. **

**So just in case anyone reading this didn't check my profile in time to catch the news: part of the reason this chapter took as long as it did to get out was that my laptop got a nasty little virus that made it not want to start. For several days I languished in paranoia that I would lose all my Word docs and all my music and the rest of my life that didn't already have a place on the intarwebz, until the most awesome man to ever grace this planet with his presence AKA my dad worked his computer-nerd magic and backed up all my info. I just got it back from the repair people yesterday, and we spent most of yesterday and today getting my poor lappy back to where it was, since the hard drive had to be wiped. BUT everything is fixed now, I have all my info – and an extra twenty gigs of music courtesy of my most amazing father – so all is well.**

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* * *

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A slim young woman waited just outside of the Autonomous Zone for her teammates to arrive. Two of them, both Americans, and both of them forces to be reckoned with, if the info HQ had given her was correct. She hadn't heard of Albert Wesker before except in passing, but Chris Redfield was a name any BSAA field agent was familiar with. Sheva felt a thrill of excitement to be able to work with the man hailed as a hero. She wondered what he was like – what both of them were like. She remembered reading Wesker's profile and wondering why he had been sent on this mission. If he was a researcher, why was he on the field? Would he be able to handle it? Would she? Sheva swallowed hard and reminded herself that she could do this. Most of her life had been spent training, it seemed, for this mission.

A villager passed her and met with another in the shallow alcove between shacks, and the two men muttered uneasily between each other. Sheva sighed. This area had never been very friendly toward outsiders, but now the xenophobia was getting to the point that tourism in nearby cities was slacking off, for fear of violence erupting. The whole zone had been closed off and security was a nightmare. Even the BSAA and Peace Corps had trouble getting clearance to move in and out. It made Sheva glad that her superiors had had the foresight to assign her to this mission – the two Americans, whether or not they were with the BSAA, would not have been easily able to move about without a native with them to reassure the locals. She took a deep breath and expelled it in a sigh. They were sure taking their time getting here…

Then, a sandy-colored Jeep pulled up nearby and came to a halt. It was the first vehicle Sheva had seen all day – it had to be them. She lingered back as the Jeep's passengers disembarked, studying the pair from a distance to see what she could make of them. They were both pretty tall, both muscular – the dark-haired one more so. The blonde was slightly taller and leaner. He was dressed in dark colors and wore sunglasses whose polarized lenses reflected everything like a mirror. He moved with fluid, almost predatory grace – she likened him to the sleek leopards roaming the grasslands. The brunette was heavier-set and brawny, like a body-builder; he seemed more like a big male lion. She decided that the brunette was the less intimidating of the two, despite his size and the serious frown on his face. There was something uncanny about the blonde – his expression was unfathomable, guarded. She didn't know whether she could trust someone who was so hard to read.

Sheva moved closer to the two so she could listen in on their conversation. The way they interacted, these two were familiar with one another. From their profiles, they had worked together in the past and were well acquainted. That would make her job harder, since she would be the new addition into this partnership that was already well-established. As she observed them and eavesdropped, she heard them exchange a joke or two – they sounded like they were personal friends as well. Well, she wasn't going to get anywhere by hanging back and worrying. The young woman stepped out toward them and approached the Jeep.

The blonde was the first to notice her. The brunette was the first to turn and look at her, but somehow Sheva got the impression that the blonde had been aware of her presence as soon as she'd stepped toward them. That didn't make her feel any better about having to work with this mysterious man. "Welcome to Africa," she said, as much to get their attention as to provide a greeting. The brunette left off collecting something from the backseat of the Jeep and turned toward her. A few moments later, the blonde casually looked up as well. "My name is Sheva Alomar." She held out her hand.

The brunette's grip was firm, but friendly when they shook. "Chris Redfield," he said in return.

The blonde strolled around the Jeep and took her hand in his black-gloved hand. "Albert Wesker." His voice was smoother than Redfield's rumbling baritone; it was like liquid silver.

Trying not to feel intimidated by Wesker's cool exterior, Sheva switched her attention back to Redfield. "Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Redfield. It's an honor."

"Just Chris, thanks," Redfield demurred.

Wesker was all business. "You'll be accompanying us to our destination?"

She nodded. "Yes. Tensions have been running high ever since the change in government."

Chris snorted. "I'll bet. Intel says this is a haven for terrorists now."

"And they're not going to be happy seeing Americans here, BSAA or not. That's why I'm here – I'll put them more at ease," Sheva added.

"I'm sure you'll do just fine," Chris stated firmly.

Taking that as a cue to move on, Sheva turned and headed toward the gates. Footsteps crunching in the gravel behind her alerted her to the fact that her new partners were following. They approached the towering wall around the Autonomous Zone and the gate set into it, but a soldier armed with a rifle stepped forward. Sheva held one arm out to make sure the two Americans let her handle it. The local guard would give them problems even if they knew the language.

The lanky soldier stepped forward and started to frisk her, but she shrugged his hands away and produced identification. "There's no need to get touchy," she warned, narrowing her eyes as the guard looked over their papers. Grudgingly, the man handed her the ID back and let them pass. The local glared as the two Americans passed, and was met with a cold shoulder from Chris and a returning evil eye through Wesker's shades. The man sneered but averted his gaze; he could feel the blonde's eyes on him.

And so they passed through the gates and into Kijuju. There was a palpable shift in the atmosphere: it became almost stifling. Tension was so heavy in the air that it felt about to snap, and everyone caught in the backlash would regret it. She felt the eyes of every local fall on them, and they were not cordial at all. Most were thinly-veiled glares.

"_This is Kirk. Chris, Sheva, Wesker. Can you read me?"_

"Chris here. Coming in loud and clear, Kirk."

"Yes, we can read you," Sheva responded.

"Copy that," Wesker drawled, sounding bored.

"_There's a black market weapons deal going down in Kijuju – that's where Irving will be. Alpha team has already infiltrated the area and you will be going in as backup. Rendezvous with your contact at the butcher's shop. You can gear up and get briefed on the mission there. Watch your backs."_

"Roger that," Chris agreed.

"Roger."

"Copy. Over and out," Sheva said, ending the brief radio conversation. They continued down the road, toward where a group of villagers were bludgeoning a burlap sack – Sheva was disturbed to notice that the sack was twitching. As they passed the villagers left off beating the sack and watched them with open hostility and menacing postures. Not even Sheva was spared this treatment – she was with the foreigners, after all.

Behind them, a radio that had previously been broadcasting static produced a coherent voice, growling in Swahili. Suddenly Wesker stopped dead and turned around, eyeing the street behind them sharply. The other two followed suit; Chris was the last to turn.

The street was deserted. They were the only ones left, and the radio continued to broadcast the male voice. Wesker sneered slightly at the radio and turned back around. "Come on," he said impatiently, striding toward the cream-painted brick building with a sign overhead proclaiming it to be the Corner Pyamy Butchery. Sheva stood still for a few more moments, looking around, as did Chris. "They're all definitely gone," Wesker said over his shoulder. "We'll see why soon enough. Let's move along, ladies and gentlemen."

Sheva turned to look at Wesker's back, and glanced questioningly at Chris. The marksman shook his head. "He takes some getting used to," he told the young woman. "There's a lot riding on this mission, too. We're all a little tense."

Sheva nodded, understanding. She was on edge too. This atmosphere was enough to tighten anyone's nerves. They followed Wesker around the side of the butcher shop, but he stopped them before they went in. He looked at Chris significantly, then tilted his head down to remove his sunglasses. Sheva gasped and stepped back when the newly uncovered eyes looking back at her held a completely unnatural range of colors from gold to bloodred.

"I'm going to be upfront with you right now," Wesker said curtly. "I am not human. Eleven years ago I became infected with a distant relative of the t-virus, which gave me a number of advantages over humans. I am much stronger and faster and I heal very quickly. It would be impossible to hide that from you if this situation turns out the way I predict. I'm giving you this warning now in case you don't feel comfortable working with me. That is perfectly fine, and neither Chris nor I would think of you badly. We need to be at our optimum for this mission and if you aren't up to it then you would just hamper our progress. Think it over before you join us to be briefed, because you might not get another chance to back out." The tyrant replaced his sunglasses, turned briskly on his heel, and walked over to the side door of the shop. Wesker went inside, while Chris lingered outside with Sheva.

Still rather dumbstruck, she looked once more to the marksman. He looked rather contrite. "Sorry to dump that on you so suddenly, but he's right. We'll let you think about it for a minute; if you still feel game, come on in and get geared up." He paused and put a hand on her shoulder. "But if you're not sure, then the best thing you can do would be to turn around. Believe me. It took me a while to get used to him being like that, and I'd known him for a couple years beforehand. HQ already knows about all this, so the option is there if you need to take it." He smiled encouragingly and followed Wesker into the butcher shop.

Sheva stood, incredulous, and stared at the door for a few moments. It was hard to believe what she'd just seen. Her first induction into the world of bioweapons… and one of them was supposed to be her ally. Sheva wasn't sure she was inclined to trust him to watch her back in a combat situation. Chris, certainly, but the blonde tyrant not so much. She debated back and forth with herself until she was thinking in circles. Her response boiled down to this: _I'm not happy with it, but I can deal. This mission is important enough that I need to suck it up and get going._ So she resolutely marched up to the door and stepped inside the dim, cooler interior of the butcher shop. She didn't bother to look at Chris or Wesker's expressions, but followed the informant as he led the way deeper into the store.

"It may be because of the new government, but people around here are a little on edge," the informant said. "You should do what you came here to do and go home."

Chris snorted. "Yeah, they really roll out the red carpet for us Americans," he remarked.

The informant went over to where a big attaché case waited on a table. "I have your weapons for you here. Check them. The operation's already started, so you need to hurry."

They approached the case and opened it. The gear inside was simple; rather sparse, but workable. They didn't want to stir up too much alarm by going around armed to the teeth. Chris wished they'd been able to bring their own weapons, but getting past the checkpoint at the gate would have been impossible if they'd been armed.

They pulled on the holsters, sheathed knives and meticulously checked handguns. "Destination coordinates?" Sheva asked, glancing at the informant.

"Town square's up ahead, go through there," he answered, gesturing with a jerk of his head. "Alpha team's waiting at the deal location."

"Good."

The informant glanced around nervously, then stepped closer, lowering his voice. "What do you know about Uroboros?"

Wesker snorted scathingly. "Some rumor of a doomsday plot."

"Doomsday sounds about right, and apparently it is no rumor," warned the informant darkly.

"You're kidding, right?" Sheva said incredulously, looking from the informant to her partners.

"You must find a man named Irving. He's our only lead." The informant stalked toward the exit, pausing briefly with the door open. "And be careful out there."

They finished gearing up and headed out. "Remember: we're a team. Whatever happens, we stick together," Chris said resolutely, looking more at Sheva than Wesker.

She smiled slightly. "Don't worry. I may not be as big as you, but I can still hold my own."

They proceeded along the alley and down a short flight of stairs to where the headless carcass of what seemed to be a goat was discarded, flies buzzing around it. "Oh look, they left us lunch," Chris remarked wryly, glancing at Wesker.

"How nice of them," The blonde answered with equal irony. Sheva just wrinkled her nose at the foul smells rising off the sun-baked carcass.

They investigated the shack next to them. It didn't hold much of interest, besides a note on the counter bearing frantic scribbles detailing the fate of all outsiders. As they exited into the alley again a panicked shriek tore through the air, drawing their attention. "Did you hear that?" Sheva asked, eyes wide.

"It came from in there," Wesker said. They picked up the pace to a trot and climbed another set of stairs. Chris grabbed the door handle, glancing at the others to make sure they were ready; with guns aimed, he eased the door open and went inside

Their gazes were immediately drawn by the presence of three locals. One was pinned to the floor by a second man straddling his chest, while the third crouched over the first's head, holding his arms. The pinned one breathed heavily, erratically; he was obviously afraid. The one trapping him grabbed his jaw to force his mouth open and shoved something down his throat.

"Freeze!" Chris barked as he and Sheva raised their handguns. The two aggressors let up on their victim and, turning to glare at the three BSAA agents, bolted. Before the one pinning the man to the ground turned, Sheva could have sworn she saw something strange coming out of his mouth. But then they were gone, leaving their victim writhing on the ground, choking. The man rolled onto his hands and knees and hacked desperately, one hand holding his throat while saliva dribbled from the corners of his mouth.

Chris went up to the man. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned – but the man swatted his hand away violently.

"Back off, Chris," Wesker warned as the man continued to writhe, clawing madly at his throat with both hands. Suddenly, the man reared back with his mouth gaping open, bloodshot eyes wide; blood leaked from his tear ducts and streaked down his cheeks. Wesker aimed his handgun. "Watch out…"

The man slumped forward and, slowly, picked himself up from the floor and stood. Chris made as if to step forward and help him, but before he could, the man suddenly charged. Chris staggered back and raised his gun, but the man moved faster than he expected, and just about grabbed him. As Chris struggled with the man, _something_ strange emerged from his mouth. It was like a fleshy, four-petaled flower, but nowhere near as harmless. Panicked, Sheva raised her gun – before she could fire, two shots rang out from Wesker's gun. Both bullets ripped through the man's head, causing it to practically explode. Chris pushed the now-limp body away from himself. "Thanks…" he muttered to Wesker.

The tyrant strode over to where the body was rapidly dissolving into a puddle of odiferous tar. "What the hell just happened?" Sheva asked shakily.

"They didn't move like any zombies I've ever seen," Chris observed. "What do you think, Albert?"

"It's not a virus, at least; that much I can tell. No Progenitor-based virus acts that fast or in that manner. Did you happen to notice what he had shoved down his throat? I think it was some living organism – I saw it move." Wesker stood and dusted his hands off. "It's difficult to say with any certainty right now. I have a hunch but we won't know for sure until it starts to get dark."

"Care to share your theory?" Chris asked as they made their way out of the room.

"Do you remember reading Leon's report of his mission to Spain?"

"Yeah, why?"

"This could be an infestation of the same parasites he encountered. The way these locals are behaving fits the description he gave."

"You mean Las Plagas?" Chris frowned in thought.

"I could be wrong, though. We don't know enough at the moment. It's just a hunch." Wesker unceremoniously kicked out the window and hopped down to street level. The other two followed suit.

Sheva trailed after the two Americans, curious and confused. "What are you talking about?"

"In 2004 an American Secret Service agent named Leon Kennedy was sent into Spain to retrieve the President's kidnapped daughter, and he encountered a number of new B.O.W. there, including a parasite called Las Plagas by the locals. The parasites are social, and live in colonies of infected hosts, over which they have control. When he was there Leon noticed that the villagers exhibited strange behavior not unlike what we've been seeing here," Wesker explained shortly over his shoulder. "There are discrepancies between this situation and what Leon detailed in his report, though, which is why I'm not sure. However, it is entirely likely that someone could have gotten their hands on samples of the parasites and developed them further."

Suddenly Wesker stopped and cursed under his breath. In the distance, Chris and Sheva soon heard a group of locals shouting aggressively and approaching fast. The tyrant turned and headed back the way they had just come. "I think there's another building we can shelter in. If we stay out here we'll be surrounded," he growled. Chris gestured Sheva on ahead of him, and the trio turned the corner again, but went straight past the building from which they had just jumped. Wesker kicked open the door impeding their way into the safety of the building and went ahead to make sure there were no hostiles inside, while the other two scrambled in and barred the door. Wesker soon returned; the place was clear for the time being.

Chris put a hand to his earpiece. "Come in, Kirk. The locals are hostile and we have to use force. We don't have any contingency plans for this situation, do we?"

"_Roger on the locals, but your orders still stand."_

"What does that mean?" Sheva wondered aloud. "Was HQ expecting this?"

Neither of them answered; they didn't need to. She followed them as Wesker led the way into the next room and down a short ladder. They went through a tunnel that Sheva hadn't known existed and came up in another shack. So far none of the locals seemed to be following them, for which she was intensely relieved. She didn't want to have to kill these people… of course, if her life and the lives of her teammates were in danger she would open fire, but if there was any way to avoid conflict she would take that route.

A short, winding path later and they took cover in another hut behind the town square. "So that's where everybody went," Chris remarked, listening to the boisterous crowd outside roaring encouragement. They weren't at a very good angle to see much, but the tall execution block was within their sight, as well as the handful of people standing on it. It was hard to ignore the hulking executioner as he lugged the massive axe at his side.

A man with sunglasses and a megaphone in hand strode back and forth aggressively across the platform, shouting to the crowd. "Wonder what he's saying…" Chris muttered to himself.

"You don't particularly want to know," Albert replied dryly. "Trust me. It's nothing good." Sheva gave the blonde a curious look – how did this American know enough Swahili to understand what the agitator was saying?

Then, a familiar English-speaking voice cut across the cacophony. "You don't know what you're talking about! You can all go to hell!" spat the informant from before. He was being restrained by two townspeople and struggling for all he was worth.

"Wait a minute! That's the –" Sheva cut herself off when Chris' hand descended on her shoulder. She looked at the marksman, who shook his head slightly and turned his attention back to the goings on outside.

Having finished his rant for now, the agitator looked to the executioner. The massive man hefted his axe and swung it in a huge arc that ended when the blade of the axe thudded into the boards below. The informant's head dropped to the ground, shortly followed by the rest of his body when the townspeople released him. The crowd below them erupted into raucous cheering.

Sheva had averted her face as the axe fell; Chris winced, and Wesker remained expressionless. Sheva wondered if this inhuman man even felt any remorse for the informant's death.

The agitator surveyed the crowd around him. As his gaze swung to take in the full scene, he noticed the three unfamiliar faces through the distorted glass of the hut. He pointed directly at them and barked orders through his megaphone; suddenly, the whole crowd released a collective growl as they turned to attack the intruders. The BSAA agents raised their handguns as the mass of hostile locals ran straight for their now-blown cover.

"Aim for the head or neck," Wesker remarked lowly as the sounds of the approaching crowd grew louder. "That should be instinct for you by now, Chris. If this really is Las Plagas then the parasite should be along the spinal column. Either way headshots take anything out quickly."

Chris chuckled darkly. "Just like old times, but better. These can run."

"And wield weapons. At least we won't have to worry as much about getting infected."

Then, the mob reached them. They were essentially under siege as long as they stayed in the hut, so Wesker led the way in cutting a path through the encroaching mob. "Kirk, come in! The locals are hostile!" Chris ground into his earpiece. "The way out is sealed – we're trapped. We need backup and we need it right now!"

"_Roger that. Just hang tight, I'm on my way!"_

A look of relief passed over Sheva's face. "I just hope they get here quick!"

A chain-link gate blocked the way into the square, but Wesker soon solved that problem with a few well-placed blows to its hinges. The gate rattled as it fell and Wesker waited for his compatriots to escape the increasingly crowded area around the hut. Getting out into open ground was a huge relief since now they had breathing room and places to take cover. "Stay together. If you get separated you're likely to be overrun," Wesker warned the two humans.

They battled for several minutes, but as she kept having to turn this way and that to face her attackers, she lost sight of Wesker. Suddenly, she felt herself being shoved; she fell to the ground and immediately rolled over to see what was going on. The executioner with his massive axe had been sneaking up behind her and preparing to bring his weapon down on her, but Wesker had pushed her out of the way. Instead, the blonde caught the full force of the blow. The axe buried itself deep enough into his left shoulder that the edge of its blade nearly exited his body near the right hip. "Shit!" Already they'd lost one. Sheva scrambled upright and fired her handgun desperately into the executioner.

Chris hauled her back by her arm. "Back up! Don't worry about him, just keep shooting," the marksman growled. The two of them backed against the nearest wall as the executioner advanced; he seemed to absorb all their bullets. He made as if to swing the axe, but suddenly stopped, as if something was trapping his axe against the ground. Sheva looked on incredulously as two black-gloved hands grabbed the executioner's head and twisted it savagely. His neck broke with a sick crack and he collapsed.

Sheva could only stare wide-eyed as Wesker strode up to them. His shirt was ripped, but the underlying flesh was unharmed. "He didn't get either of you?" he asked, looking them over briefly. "Good. Next time something big like that shows up, just leave it to me and don't waste your ammo."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Chris muttered. "That thing didn't look like it was ever gonna go down."

Sheva continued fighting. She wasn't sure what to think about Wesker now – she had just been presented with even more poignant evidence than his eyes that he was not human. He'd taken a mortal injury to save her from it; she was grateful, sure, and it did help her to build some trust in him, but at the same time she was still incredibly confused. Chris was clearly used to this, since the marksman hadn't even batted an eye throughout the whole thing. She supposed that she was just going to have to get over it and keep going.

Something grabbed her from behind; she struggled against the grip desperately, her skin crawling as the villager's breath rasped down her neck. A loud crunch sounded right behind her and the restricting arms released her. She whirled around to face her attacker, but saw Wesker's back as he moved on to the next enemy and a puddle of tar on the ground.

Chris backed up until their heels touched; they were practically surrounded by hostiles. "There's just no end to them!" she said desperately.

"We've gotta hold out till Kirk gets here," Chris answered over his shoulder.

A heavy pipe was heading right for the back of Chris' head and Sheva was looking the other direction, but suddenly a bullet pinged against the pipe and knocked it astray. Wesker holstered his handgun and vaulted over a villager to get to them. "Alive?"

"So far," Chris grunted.

Wesker caught a long-handled wrench being swung at him, yanked it from its owner's grasp, and proceeded to crack the man's skull open with his new weapon. He stepped away from the two humans and began beating some of the enemies back farther. Sheva had noticed that the tyrant had barely used his gun since receiving it; but then, he seemed perfectly effective with his knife and whatever he could grab from the surrounding area. And it was conserving bullets that the two humans needed to use in order to be as effective.

For several more agonizingly long minutes, the fight continued. They moved through the village, trying to keep the seemingly never-ending horde at bay, and prayed that backup would arrive soon.

"_How are you guys holding up? I'll be there shortly, just hang in there."_

Sheva breathed a sigh of relief and, buoyed by renewed hope that they would survive, she reloaded her gun and kept shooting. It was only a few moments later when another transmission came through. _"Sorry to keep you waiting! I'm gonna take out the door, find some cover!"_

They ducked behind a gutted bus as the helicopter swooped overhead and someone in its belly aimed a rocket launcher at the sealed gate. The explosion when the warhead hit sent a blast of air to buffet them and shrapnel skittered by not far from their hiding place. As the smoke began to clear, they came out from behind the bus and trotted toward the now-clear exit. "Kirk, we owe you one," Chris said with relief into his earpiece. Most of the villagers seemed to have either died in the explosion or taken cover, since the square was now deserted.

"_You can thank me later. Listen, guys, it's almost time for Alpha team to go in. Hurry to the deal coordinates."_

"Roger that."

"_I'm going on ahead. We'll meet up there. Good luck."_

They proceeded away from the village square and entered a part of the town that had a number of larger, sturdier buildings than the slum-like area they had just escaped.

"_Mathison, Captain DeChant here. Our route is blocked! Kirk, come in!"_

"Sounds like Alpha is having some problems," Chris observed.

"Not surprising. Let's pick up the pace, shall we?" Wesker replied. They fell into a brisk trot and wove deeper into the grid of homes, encountering a few more aggressive locals along the way. Their earpieces buzzed to life again and they paused to listen.

"_We engaged the enemy! And, what the… what the… that thing? In trouble – we need backup! Shit! …Help! … can't see…"_ The rest of DeChant's transmission dissolved into static.

"_Captain, what is your status? Can you see the enemy?"_ Kirk's voice came in again.

"_No, no, wait! Goddamn monster!"_ DeChant screamed. The transmission ended.

"Alpha team, come in! Alpha team!" Sheva cried.

"DeChant? Do you copy? DeChant! Shit…" Chris swore colorfully under his breath and they increased their pace once more. As they continued, another scream of distress became audible – this time coming from a woman. "Great, what now?" Chris muttered.

They burst through another gate, to see a thin light-skinned woman run to the edge of the balcony of the building in front of them and shriek for help. A local man grabbed her and dragged her back inside, kicking and wailing. Behind the shades, Wesker rolled his eyes – another distraction. They ran up to the building and climbed the stairs, then after a brief pause, swung into the room.

The woman staggered into Chris and sagged. He supported the ill-looking woman, frowning. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Careful. They may still be here," Wesker warned as he and Sheva toured through the two rooms, looking for enemies.

Feebly, the woman grasped at Chris' holster straps that ran across his back. Suddenly, her grip tightened and her head reared back while the same four-petaled appendage emerged from her mouth. Chris wasn't fast enough to push her away and the gross thing started to grab onto the marksman's face.

Wesker was in the next room making sure no enemies were going to crawl out of the woodwork, so Sheva was the only one close enough to notice. She turned and fired her handgun – the bullet ripped right through the base of the _whatever it was_ about to eat her teammate's face and caused it to withdraw back into the woman's mouth. The woman staggered back several paces and hesitated for a moment.

Wesker came trotting back, having heard the gunshot, and noticed the sudden change in the atmosphere. Without waiting for the infected woman to charge, he unloaded several bullets into her head. Instead of dropping to the floor dead as they expected her to, the woman only balked for a moment. Suddenly, a long whiplike appendage emerged from the stump of her neck. The wicked spike at the end swished rapidly through the air as the stalk to which it was attached continuously undulated and flailed.

"The fuck?" Chris yelped as he raised his gun to shoot at the strange manifestation. A few shots to the base of the limb severed it from the woman's body and both fell to the floor. Sheva remained staring, bewildered, at the place the body had been for a few moments.

"I think we can safely assume that we're dealing with Las Plagas here," Wesker remarked. "I can't think of anything else that fits what we've encountered."

"And that's _so_ comforting," Chris replied acerbically as he wiped the creature's saliva from his face.

The tyrant almost smiled. "That thing didn't get you, did it?"

"Almost, but no."

"Good." He glanced around briefly. "The coast seems to be clear, so let's continue." The other two followed him down the stairs.

"_Mathison to HQ. We've lost contact with Alpha team. They're under attack by an unidentified hostile. Reinforcements, head toward the deal coordinates immediately!"_

"Sheva here. Roger that!" Luckily they weren't far from the location, and it took mere moments to reach the building where the deal was supposed to have taken place. As they pressed further into the building, from upstairs resonated a shriek of terror that put haste in the three BSAA agents' steps.

In the floor above, they found a corpse. Freshly dead – he was still warm. And heavily armored, which begged the question of how he was killed. Up another floor and Albert heard movements nearby. They proceeded through that floor cautiously until they reached the only room left unexplored.

"What the hell happened here?" Chris muttered as they entered the room. Blood, death, fear and some new smell assaulted Wesker's senses as he walked in. There were several more Alpha team corpses around the room, and DeChant was slumped against the wall in a growing pool of his own blood, barely clinging to life. Chris went over to the injured man. "Hey. Who did this?" In the meantime, the other two surveyed the room to make sure whatever mysterious enemy that had butchered Alpha team didn't reappear.

"S-something attacked us… Irving… he got away…. It was a setup," DeChant managed to rasp.

"A setup?" Chris echoed, jaw clenching.

Suddenly, a single gunshot rang out. Wesker sneered as a shadow flitted past outside. Sheva and Chris were eyeing him incredulously. "I heard someone just outside as soon as we came in here. I was hoping to catch them by surprise and at least injure them. I think I grazed the shoulder."

Chris felt something against his hand and took the palm pilot-sized device DeChant handed him. "What is this?"

"It's data regarding the deal… I downloaded it from their computer." DeChant grunted painfully. "You gotta get it to HQ…" A rattling sigh slipped past his bloody lips as he slumped to the side.

"Hey! Hey, hang in there!" Chris shook DeChant urgently, but got no response. DeChant was dead. The marksman let go and his head dropped. He sighed under his breath.

"Mathison, do you copy? We got the data, but Alpha team is down. Irving got away," Wesker reported, a hand at his earpiece.

"_Roger. Relay the data from the vehicle at the storage facility."_

"Copy that."

Chris heaved himself upright with a grim expression on his face, and they made their way to the elevator, which took them down to the basement floor. Even down there they found more dead Alpha team members – it seemed like absolutely none of them had survived. They tried the door, but it was locked. Wesker went looking for a key since it would be too noisy to kick the door down; they were trying to keep a low profile in case who or whatever had killed Alpha was still around.

Suddenly, squelching sounds coming from above them caused Chris and Sheva to look up. Dark, slimy tentacles were forming into an ever-growing mass that grew down from the ceiling like a diseased drop of water. "What the hell is that?" Sheva said, confused, but not yet alarmed.

The mass continued to grow and dropped onto the floor. It reared up into a vaguely bipedal form, while more thick tentacles extended outward to curl around the nearby body of a dead BSAA operative. The corpse was dragged toward the disturbing manifestation and it hunched over the body, slowly absorbing the matter into itself.

Chris raised his handgun. "I think that's what got Alpha team!" he said, firing into the creature's constantly-undulating surface. Sheva joined him, but though the thing twitched with every bullet that made impact, it was unfazed. One of its long arms reeled back and then shot forward, heading straight for them; the two humans were pulled out of the way when Wesker blurred into existence next to them and hauled them out of the way. They ran around the creature and made it to the mouth of the hallway leading into the furnace room.

They ran down the hall and burst into the furnace room; Chris glanced behind them at the jets of flame. "Wonder if the furnace will hurt it."

"Only one way to find out!" Wesker grunted as he shot at the approaching B.O.W.. "One of you work the controls and I'll lure it in there."

Sheva shot one last time at the approaching monstrosity and darted for the control panel, which contained, handily enough, just one switch to activate the furnace. Chris provided some covering fire as they lured the creature closer; Wesker continued backing up until he was standing inside the furnace. He had holstered his gun, hoping to make the creature think him an easier target – indeed, it lashed out with whiplike tentacles and tried to grab him. He let the slimy tentacles wrap around his arms, which he held protectively in front of him, and yanked with all his might. At the same time he pulled backward; the creature was thrown off-balance by the sudden tug, which allowed Wesker to drag it into the furnace with him. He ripped free of the tentacles. "Hit it!"

The door slid down slowly as the temperature inside the chamber began to rise, and Wesker dove underneath it just before it settled onto the ground with a heavy _chunk_. Fire streamed from the nozzles along the furnace's wall. The flames licked hungrily at the trapped B.O.W.; its writhing tentacles seemed to shrink away from the intense heat. It squirmed and flailed to no avail, for soon the bright orange tongues of fire were devouring it mercilessly. With a hiss and a gurgle, it fell limply to the floor, just as the flames died down.

Lip curled in disgust, Wesker wiped the sections of Uroboros tentacle still clinging to his forearms from the B.O.W.'s attack. "Good thinking, Chris. That could easily have gotten nasty," he commented. "From the way that thing was absorbing bullets, it's no wonder it took out Alpha. We were lucky we had the furnace nearby to use."

Sheva looked at the puddle of gooey black fluid that remained of the B.O.W. and suppressed the urge to shudder. In the back of her mind, she wondered what insane mind would come up with something twisted like that – much less actually create it. She looked to her partners, and neither of them seemed fazed. She almost shook her head, until she remembered that they had both been dealing with scenarios like this for a decade. She almost felt sorry for them, if they could be so desensitized to something like that.

They made their way out of the furnace room, through another corridor and up another elevator. Then they found themselves in the storage facility Kirk had mentioned. The two humans prowled alertly until they saw that they were alone; Wesker had been able to sense quickly enough that there was no danger. Sheva was learning to get used to the tyrant's unusual mannerisms. It was still uncanny, but on the flip side, she could already see how useful it was to have someone of his capabilities along.

Wesker located a computer in one of the Jeeps and proceeded to transfer the data to HQ. Now that they were fairly safe, Sheva allowed herself to relax a little and give voice to all the questions buzzing through her mind. "What was that thing?" she asked, as much thinking aloud as to see if the other two had any ideas.

Chris snorted. "A B.O.W. that scumbag Irving left behind to set us up. Considering what it did to Alpha team, I think we're lucky to still be breathing." It was an easy conclusion to reach; that had occurred to her, and Sheva frowned. Was he just stating the obvious to insult her? She shook her head slightly and put it out of her mind. The tension had not let up since they'd entered Kijuju, so everyone was bound to be snappy.

"If only we could have gotten there sooner…" she sighed.

"If we had, we'd probably be dead too," Wesker remarked dryly. He finished transferring the data and put a hand to his earpiece. "Wesker to HQ, do you copy?"

"_This is HQ. Excellent work out there. We'll analyze the data immediately."_

"This whole town's gone to hell," Chris added. "The people here are acting like the Ganados detailed in the Kennedy report, and aside from that, there's something new – something we've never encountered before."

"Our transportation has been taken out as well. Requesting a mission update," Sheva said. With Alpha down, what could they do?

"_The mission stands. Capturing Irving is your top priority. We believe he may have fled to the mines on the other side of the train station."_

"Wait, we're the only ones left, you want us to go in there alone?" Chris demanded.

"_Delta team has been dispatched and they're on their way. They will assist you in locating and apprehending Irving."_

Sheva's eyes were wide. "But wait, we _can't_ –"

"_I repeat, your mission stands. We can't afford to let him get away. Proceed to the mines beyond the station. Over and out."_

"This is insane!" Sheva insisted, beginning to pace in agitation.

Chris glanced from Wesker to Sheva. "You ever get the feeling you're expendable?" he remarked darkly.

Wesker remained leaning against the Jeep, appearing unconcerned. "Welcome to the real world, boys and girls. For the most part you've been spoiled by having superiors who actually give a damn about your wellbeing." He snorted bitterly and stood, walking away from them and toward the door.

Sheva looked to Chris, her brows furrowed in confusion – but he just shook his head. He followed after the tyrant, leaving Sheva to bring up the rear as they exited the garage and proceeded out into the maze-like arrangement of stacked shipping crates. She wondered more and more about the blonde – he was so opaque all the time, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. That really was what kept Sheva from putting even the beginnings of trust in him. She didn't like being kept in the dark. She wanted to know what was going on in her teammates' minds.

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**Okay enough of that. I dunno whether or not the other chapters will end up being this long, but I doubt it. I just ended up waxing eloquent because it was a slightly different POV. We'll go back to the usual next chapter and since I won't have to narrate from Sheva's view anymore it won't take up as much space. But it will end up taking quiiite a few chapters to do this part. I hope it won't end up boring those of you who've already played the game, so I'll try to mix things up a bit more.**


	18. Uroboros

**Okay so I lied about the getting a few chapters of Upside Down. I suddenly hit a little Museblock so we're back to this one until my Muse goes ADHD again.**

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**

Soon after exiting the garage and weaving their way into the stacks of shipping crates, a new enemy appeared before them. A small pack of canines – both mutts from off the streets and a few unexpected hyenas and hunting dogs, possibly from the plains – appeared, and charged them with the same savagery as the infested humans. They couldn't be passed off as having rabies when the neck of one individual split open lengthwise, revealing a toothy maw and a long, whiplike Plaga.

"Even the dogs are infected?" Sheva exclaimed, eyes wide, as the last adjule fell. Neither of her teammates replied; they just moved on into the open area where several majini were waiting for them. Unlike the two Americans, Sheva was having trouble thinking of these enemies as mindless creatures rather than people. At least she didn't balk at opening fire on them. Clearly she had experience in combat situations, if not outbreaks. However, the two ex-S.T.A.R.S. knew that fighting the infected was far removed from fighting sentient humans.

They were in the process of crossing a sundered bridge, when a van suddenly swerved around the corner and tried running them down – those majini didn't count on Chris' sharpshooting through the windshield. After fending off more adjule as they traipsed through the sewers, they emerged back into sunlight to find several supposedly dead majini collapsed in their path. Albert went up and nudged one "corpse" experimentally, only for a new manifestation of Las Plagas to emerge from its spinal column and flap laboriously into the air. It tried grabbing onto his head, but a few bullets ripped its malformed wings to shreds and Albert stomped it into oblivion. After a few more of the flying kipepo Plaga pried free of their hosts and were subsequently destroyed, they proceeded into a dock area where, unknown to them, an ambush was being set up.

Albert was acutely aware of the sounds of running majini just out of sight and of the few glimpses they got of their enemies. It put his nerves even more on edge than they were already, the flitting about like that on the periphery. He didn't like these majini: they were far smarter and more agile than any virus-infected zombie. He wanted to jump the barricade and follow them, but at the same time, he would be leaving his compatriots behind. So he helped them get the gate open so that they could proceed; as soon as they did, the trap was sprung. A swarm of majini descended on them, some armed with crossbows and flame-tipped arrows.

They took cover behind a building and tried sniping out the ones with crossbows – at least, the humans did. Albert dashed right up to the majini and took them out. By now, Sheva was starting to adjust to the tyrant's unusual abilities. She had to grant that it was nice having him around in situations such as this. Just then, Albert reappeared, signaling that they were safe to emerge. There were still majini around charging at them, but the crossbows had been taken out. "We're going to be getting help, finally," Albert commented, gesturing to the sky above. It took a few moments before the thrum of helicopter blades became audible to the humans.

"_HQ sent me in to provide some air support. It's gonna get hot down there, so watch out!"_ Kirk warned, waving to them from the cockpit.

"Roger. Thanks, Kirk!" Sheva called into her earpiece. A little bit of hope dispelled some of the worries that had been forming in her mind.

"Wow. I didn't think HQ actually cared!" Chris remarked sarcastically. They advanced, shooting down majini in between dodging for cover when the Kirk opened fire. With the helicopter overhead, progress was fast as they continued on.

"_Stay frosty down there. You're almost at the station."_ The chopper did one more swoop around the area to make sure it was clear, then proceeded ahead of them.

Sheva trudged after her teammates, panting a little in the oppressive heat. She saw beads of sweat stand out on Chris' skin, and his dark brown hair was plastered to his head, but the tyrant appeared unaffected by the heat. He… he wasn't even sweating! "How are you not about to overheat?" She asked, confused. She'd noticed, earlier, that his body temperature was abnormally high, so she couldn't understand how he wasn't in the same boat as her and Chris.

Albert's lip twitched up into a smirk. "My body does not respond to extremes the same way yours does," he said simply.

Sheva was left even more puzzled, but their collective attention was soon drawn to the sky, when the helicopter entered their field of vision again, its trajectory rocking and swerving crazily. Several of the flying kipepo they'd encountered before surrounded the chopper and were attacking it. _"What the fuck are these? Mathison to HQ, I'm being attacked by flying B.O.W.! I'm losing power! Aaw shit, I'm out of control! I'm going down! Mayday, Mayday!"_

Chris put a hand to his earpiece. "Kirk, what's going on? Come in Kirk!"

All they got in response was a scream of panic, and then the transmission fizzled into static. In the distance, they heard a crash.

"_This is HQ. The helicopter has been downed. All nearby units proceed to the crash site. Repeat: all nearby units proceed to the crash site."_

They picked up a trot from there. Albert jumped onto the roof of a nearby building to provide covering fire as a swarm of majini appeared from out of nowhere. They moved on, Albert coming in handy by kicking through a few locked doors, until they were about to move through one particular gate. A new majini appeared wielding – of all things – a chainsaw. This enemy took a lot of bullets to take down, and there were several close shaves when Albert took blows from that saw to make sure his companions didn't lose limbs. At that point Sheva was glad to have him and his regenerative healing around.

Eventually they managed to kill the chainsaw majini, and just beyond that area was the wreckage of the helicopter. They trotted up to the burning shell; along with the acrid smoke rolling off the destroyed chopper, the cloying odor of burning flesh was in the air. Albert pointedly ignored the smell, though unlike his human companions who found the smell repulsive, his system found it just as appealing as the half-rotten goat carcass they'd found at the very beginning. It was just something he'd gotten used to.

Then, he suddenly tensed. The others just heard the obnoxious cawing of a flock of crows overhead; he heard the hum of motorcycles. Those were going to be a pain. "We're gonna get company on wheels soon," he warned, turning circles until he could pinpoint the direction from which the sound was coming. He realized that there were several, but he turned to face the closest one. Chris had taken his cue from the tyrant and aimed his gun the same direction Albert faced, though it took a moment for Sheva to catch up.

When the bike did arrive, they saw the long chain the rider wielded like a whip and Albert sighed inwardly. Such a hassle… The three BSAA agents dove out of the way as the chain slammed down, though the end wrapped around Chris' ankle and he was dragged behind the bike. Before Sheva could raise her gun to shoot the chain, Albert had dashed up and grabbed the chain; the majini on the other end was pulled off of the motorcycle, which crashed into a wall, and Albert deftly flicked the chain so that it smacked the majini in the jaw.

At that very moment, as Sheva ran up to join them, several more motorcycles entered the enclosed, arena-like space. The majini circled and the humans shot at them, though their bullets missed their marks. Albert made something of a game of dashing up to the bikes and dealing the front tires sharp kicks, sending it crashing to the ground where he could swiftly kill the majini. In the process of running around the yard he noticed a BSAA agent on a nearby roof with a sniper rifle, and he obligingly narrowed his concentration to one end of the yard so that the sniper could pull his own weight. A few more agents – presumably Delta team – entered, so Albert pulled back, taking deep breaths, and let them handle the rest. He was having a little too much fun "playing" with the majini.

Soon enough the last majini was down, and Delta team trotted up to them. Sheva grinned in relief. The two Americans noticed that some of the soldiers grinned back and generally acted like they knew her. They followed Delta into a nearby building to escape from the scourging sun.

"Man, am I glad to see you guys," Chris remarked, saluting them gratefully.

"Delta team, Captain Stone," the leader said, returning the salute.

"Chris Redfield." Chris extended his hand, which Josh shook.

Albert stepped up to introduce himself as well, nodding politely.

Then, Josh turned to the third member of the group. "Sheva," he greeted.

"Thanks, Josh. I owe you one," she replied.

Chris looked from Sheva to Josh with eyebrows raised. "You guys know each other," he observed.

Sheva smiled. "I trained with Josh. He taught me everything I know."

"Sheva was the little sister of the team," Josh added, before the lighthearted moment faded. "Now, you three must continue your search for Irving. According to the data we received from the hard drive, we believe he has moved onto the mining area. There's more info inside." He handed Albert a USB drive. "We'll follow after taking care of business here. And keep your radio handy, just in case." He winked.

"Thanks Josh," Sheva said as Delta team turned to go.

He nodded and Delta team moved on, leaving the three to review the data they'd been given. Albert pulled out his PDA and inserted the thumbdrive, scrolling idly through the data. When a particular image popped up on the screen, he froze, sucking in a short gasp. His free hand clenched into a fist until his knuckles crunched. "Chris," he called softly.

The marksman approached and looked over Albert's shoulder; his eyes widened. "Jill…" It was definitely an image of Jill. Her hair was significantly lighter in color and longer, but the facial features were too well known to both of them to be mistaken. Chris glanced up at Albert's face and noticed a dark smirk. He knew that that meant: from here on out, the tyrant would be following his own agenda; if it ran parallel to the BSAA, fine, but the moment their goals diverged, he would go off and pursue his own regardless of orders. And Chris fully intended to follow suit. The only reason either of them was on this mission was to try and locate Jill.

"Are you all right?" Sheva inquired, noticing the sudden changes in her teammates.

Albert controlled his expression and tucked the PDA back into his pocket. Chris shook his head slightly before looking over at Sheva. "It's nothing," he assured her, though she still looked dubious.

"Let's move out," Albert said shortly, looking to his teammates impatiently. Now that they had a lead that was more than clutching at straws, he was eager to continue. Sheva was mildly surprised by the sudden interest the tyrant showed in the mission; before, he had seemed rather bored with the whole affair. She was glad to know that he was finally taking it seriously, though she wondered what new extraordinary thing she would witness from him now that he was serious.

From there, they proceeded through the train station – past the inevitable handful of adjule and majini – and down into the mines. Here was where things got tricky: it was pitch-black. Neither Sheva nor Chris could see their hands in front of their faces, but naturally Albert could see perfectly well. There was a naked lightbulb at the entrance, shedding sparse light on a few crates. They cast about for some sort of lantern, but there was none. At first Sheva despaired of trying to navigate the darkness, but Albert wryly reassured her. "You two stay close. I'll warn you if there are enemies, though unless there's more than three or four, I should be able to take care of them before they notice you."

They left the little oasis of light and delved into the dark; Sheva made sure that she stayed right on top of Chris, who in turn stayed right on top of Albert. He knew that was going to get old fast, but he put up with it considering the fact that they were helpless without him. He heard and saw flapping wings at several points, and called back in a murmur to warn them about the bats. He could tell how on-edge they were and if they opened fire, the gunshots could easily attract the attention of any enemies lurking nearby. They ended up sloshing through ankle-deep water about the same time as a majini cropped up. Albert bid the humans wait and he ran up to the majini, crushing its skull with a well-placed blow. Another whiplike Plaga emerged from its neck, but he was unfazed; the dark-loving Plaga were naturally going to manifest more frequently down in the mines.

There were a few more majini scattered through the mine, but they were easy to deal with. Sheva found herself growing increasingly thankful for Wesker's presence; but there was a difference between finding someone useful and trusting them. She got the idea that if it came down to it, the tyrant would fend for himself, or at the very least Chris, and she would end up with the short end of the stick because she was the newcomer to this team. She tried not to let that get to her.

Their slow progress, the total darkness and the fact that Albert had to be so damn quiet about everything was really nerve-racking. Chris took it better than Sheva did, though; once his vision adjusted to the dark he could almost start to see vague shapes. It did also help that he'd been working with Albert long enough to be comfortable putting his life in the tyrant's hands. He couldn't count the times in the past that the group had been in a tough spot and Albert had stepped in to haul their asses out of the fire.

Eventually, much to the humans' relief, they got to a series of gates that led into an open area. Instead of mucking around with the crank, which would take altogether too long, Albert just lifted the gate up himself and let the humans slip under it before following suit. As they emerged into the first bit of sunlight they'd encountered since entering the mines, Sheva breathed a sigh of relief while Albert squeezed his eyes shut unhappily. And here his eyes had been nice and dark-adjusted and then they had to come back out into the damn bright sun again… "We have company," he muttered, hearing the advance of many majini. "Lots of it."

The swarm descended upon them. A few fire arrows extinguished themselves in the dirt at their feet as a few majini dropped to their level and charged. Alarmingly, a dynamite stick fell from above, though its aim was horribly off and it took out another majini rather than the BSAA agents, who were sheltering from most of the sniping in the mouth of the tunnel. "I'll be back," Albert said shortly before he dashed out into the open. He completely bypassed the ladders and jumped up the different tiers, taking out the crossbow majini and the dynamite-throwers as he went. There were still a few of them on the bottom, to which he jumped. By then the humans had emerged from the tunnel and were making inroads of their own in the majini, and soon all the enemies were dead. Albert led the way up to where another tunnel branched out. After a brief exploration, they dispatched the last few majini waiting to ambush them, they entered an old lift and returned to the surface.

Sheva heaved a sigh of relief as they trotted out of the lift and felt the reddened light of the setting sun kiss her face. They paused at the foot of the metal staircase leading up into a building, blinking against the still-bright light until their eyes adjusted. Then, they prowled up the stairs. At the top, Albert signaled that he could hear someone inside. They burst inside, guns immediately honing in on the man standing at a table. "Freeze!" Chris barked.

"Oh shit!" the man swore, snatching away from the table and wheeling around to face the intruders.

"So you must be Irving," Sheva stated accusingly.

Irving had his gun out and was frantically swinging his aim between the three BSAA operatives. "Wow! Perceptive, aren'cha?" he sneered.

Albert bit back a growl. His dislike of this man had hit instantly upon seeing him. "You think this is a joke?"

"You're just like all the other pieces of scum terrorists," Sheva spat.

"Oh I'm not like them. I'm a businessman with _standards_," Irving emphasized with a hand held to his heart.

Chris took an aggressive step forward. "Drop the weapon!"

Irving's gun immediately snapped toward the marksman. "Or… how 'bout you drop yours!" He backed up slowly, trying to keep his eyes and weapon trained on his antagonists; just then, to the crash of breaking glass, a small object hurdled into the room and began belching out a cloud of thick smoke. Instinctively, the BSAA agents dropped to the floor, coughing as the smoke invaded their lungs. Albert was hit the hardest by the smokescreen; by the time the haze dissipated, tears were beading in his eyes and he was rasping for breath. There were drawbacks to such fine-tuned senses.

While the tyrant was incapacitated and the humans were impaired, a new figure swung in through the now-broken window and snatched up Ivring by his collar, hauling him out the window. Irving cackled triumphantly as his cloaked savior jumped before he rolled out of the window after the other.

The smoke began to settle to the floor. Sheva was the first one up and running to the window; but there was no one. Chris knelt next to his friend and helped Albert up. The tyrant waved him away and let out one last cough, wiping the moisture from his eyes with his sleeve. "Any sign of them?" he asked, voice momentarily roughened.

Sheva peered over the windowsill from where she was crouched beneath it. She shook her head and stood.

Chris sighed. "Great."

"Looks like Irving has a partner," Sheva observed.

Albert was already at the table, looking through the folder Irving had left behind. "I think we've found something," he stated smugly.

The other two looked over his shoulder. "The oil field… that's in the marshlands," Sheva said, looking up at her teammates.

"Next stop," Chris remarked as Albert snapped the folder shut. He put a hand to his earpiece to report. "Delta team – Chris here. We located Irving, but he got away."

Josh's voice came back over the transmission. _"Do you know where he went?"_

"We think he's heading for an oil field in the marshlands."

"_Okay. I'm sending someone after him now. I need you three to head back this way."_

"Roger that."

They quit the building and fought their way up the winding uphill path; there were several close shaves with a turret mounted on the back of a truck nearby and then a number of dynamite-throwing majini. Albert had to jump up the slope and clear it of the dynamite-throwers before it was safe for the humans to proceed.

Blocking their way was a heavy metal Dumpster with several I-beams in it; Albert made short work of shoving it aside while Sheva watched with wide eyes. They proceeded onward to an area with a few flimsy sheds, trotting down the road until a heavily armored transport truck came barreling around a curve toward them. Suddenly the vehicle swerved crazily and skidded to a halt; dust rose around its front wheels and the rear ones hung partially off the edge of the cliff, spinning with leftover momentum. The truck was completely blocking the path and both of the people in the cockpit were dead.

Albert immediately tensed up as the smells coming from the truck washed over them. Dirt, gasoline, the majini-smell, and something altogether different. It was similar to the odor that the tentacle-creature had given off.

The rear cargo door on the truck slid open. For a moment nothing happened, then a huge, mutated creature crawled out and onto the roof of the truck. It looked like an unholy mating between a bat and an insect of some sort. As it hunkered on the truck roof to glare at them, both humans took a step back and trained their guns on it. "What is that?" Sheva yelped; the creature rasped a harsh noise halfway between a squeal and a growl and launched itself into the air, where it flapped laboriously to stay aloft on four undersized wings.

Albert immediately aimed for the fleshy yellow area on the underside of its elongated abdomen while the other two tried shooting holes in its wings. Soon the creature dropped to the ground and Albert ran up to it and, ignoring its twitching wings, brought out his knife and slashed at its neck. Getting through matted fur and thick hide was difficult, especially when the wound started healing; slower than his body, but definitely faster than normal. He stabbed the knife into its spinal cord and hacked away, trying to sever it. In the meantime, Chris and Sheva shot repeatedly into the fleshy area he'd been targeting before; that place seemed like the most sensitive and vulnerable.

The creature managed to scramble upright before the wounds took their toll. It lashed out with one wing, knocking Albert out of the way and over the edge of the cliff. Both humans traded panicked looks and carried on the battle, hoping the tyrant could get back up in time to help them. Chris knew that the fall wouldn't kill him – they'd already tried that once – but he knew it would take a chunk out of Albert's endurance and patience.

This cliff was steeper than the one outside the Spencer estate three years ago had been. Albert scrambled for a hand-hold at the rim of the cliff, but his gloved fingers found no purchase and he fell. Taking a deep breath, he straightened out his body and prepared to crash into the water below. And at the speed he was going, hitting the water was like smacking into concrete. Bones broke on impact and he plunged deep under to be battered by the current, which was fierce from the water being driven down a narrow channel.

Pain and confusion became his world. The stabbing pain of broken bones was replaced by the healing ache as they struggled to knit up while he was still being tossed about by the water. And at the same time, a searing burn spread through his whole body. He knew what was happening. His forearms still held faint marks from where the tentacle creature's appendages had squeezed his arms when he'd dragged it into the furnace. He hadn't been sure if the tentacles had broken the skin or not until recently when he started feeling a little… off. And now, though the symptoms had been shockingly mild, the new invader was making itself known in his body. He felt something ripple under his skin and shuddered at the disturbing sensation.

By then he was fully healed. He managed to grasp an underwater rock and painstakingly worked his way to the edge, where there was a narrow shelf of land where he could haul himself out. As he did he felt the rippling sensation again; this time, however, he _saw_ the worm-like tentacles writhing under his skin. He abruptly turned and retched, emptying a dark, oily substance from his stomach along with a few bits of tentacle. He shuddered violently and continued retching until just some dark-tinged bile was all that came up. He hacked several times to make sure there was no more, then shakily he got to his feet, breathing heavily. His vision was blurry and he felt incredibly weak and hungry. He knew he needed to eat something to replenish his energy stores or he wouldn't be able to make it back to Chris and Sheva.

He began slowly picking his way back upriver, hopping from rock to rock to log and back to rock. Along the way he kept an eye on the water in case some fish showed up. There were a few, but at first he wasn't sure how to catch them. He paused. Uncertainly, he pulled one glove off and held his hand up. With a moment's concentration a few thin tentacles budded from his palm; they slowly grew and extended, waving and curling under his direction. A moment of childlike fascination overtook him. He could control it so soon after it amplified? It was miraculous enough that it hadn't triggered a violent reaction from Arklay. Soon enough he had snatched a few fish out from the water with the help of his newfound appendages. He found that just letting the tentacles wrap around and absorb the matter was as good as eating it, and much faster.

By the time he felt better able to move on, he heard Chris' voice in the distance, calling his name. He banished the tentacles from view, pulling the glove back on, and proceeded much faster along the rock-strewn riverbank until he was at about the point where he'd fallen. As he moved he saw the dead carcass of the bat-thing float by and he allowed himself a grim smirk.

When Chris' voice – Sheva's with it – were more or less overhead, Albert stopped moving and threw back his head. "I'm all right! Hold on, let me get up there!" he called, hoping they could hear. Then he jumped as far up as he could, jamming his fingers into the rock face, and began the rather laborious process of scaling the sheer cliff face.

"Al! Jesus Christ, I thought the river had carried you off!" Chris cried out as the tyrant hauled himself over the edge and back onto horizontal ground. The marksman knelt next to his friend and started to reach out, all concern, when Albert waved him off.

"I'm fine. The current did carry me a while, but I got myself out," he said with a weary chuckle. "I hope Delta team also sent out someone to give us a hand because it's going to take me a while to get back to my usual self."

As if on cue, a Hummer driven by a Delta team operative drove up, now able to reach them since the Popokarimu had taken the truck it had come in down into the canyon with it. The three BSAA agents gratefully climbed onto the back of the Hummer. Albert let Chris and Sheva perch on the rim of the bed while he sat in the bottom and rested. Sheva glanced down at him. "Are you okay?"

"Just tired," he answered.

"How did you survive that? I mean, I know you heal fast, but that was a long way to fall…"

He almost smirked. "Even though hitting water at terminal velocity is painful, at least it isn't like hitting stone at terminal velocity." Actually, it would've been less of a hassle if the water hadn't carried him off, but he was more just telling her anything to quell her curiosity. He wasn't in the mood to fend off too many questions.

The truck rumbled off toward the setting sun. "I heard about Irving. Tough break," the driver remarked.

"Yes, but there will be other opportunities," Sheva said firmly. She lifted a hand to her earpiece. "Sheva to headquarters."

"_This is headquarters. What's your situation?"_

"There's a high probability that Irving is on his way to an oil field in the marshlands. We're rejoining Delta team and heading there now."

"_Understood."_

Albert had his eyes closed, trying to tune out the hum of the engine. Then, his brow furrowed. He sat up and cocked his head, brows furrowed in concentration. With a sigh, he opened his eyes. "I hear motorcycles. Many of them."

Chris sighed and climbed up onto the roof to take one of the turrets. Sheva groaned under her breath. "They don't let up, do they?" She took up position at the other turret, while Albert heaved himself upright and readied his handgun. With his reaction time, he was much better at aiming under these bumpy conditions. When the handful of majini on motorcycles came screaming up behind them, they were prepared.

They shot down the first round of majini and gripped the Hummer tightly as they swerved around a sharp curve, then their earpieces crackled to life. _"This is Captain Stone, Delta team. I just received word from HQ. Based on the data you uploaded from their hard drive, most of the townspeople have been infected by parasites knows as Las Plagas. The data referred to the infected as majini."_

Albert snorted. "We figured as much."

"What does all this have to do with Uroboros?" Chris asked, thinking aloud.

"_You got me,"_ Josh sighed.

"Well, looks like the only way we're getting answers is from Irving," Chris concluded.

More majini gave chase and were consequently shot down. They went over more bumps, which had both humans clinging to the Hummer for dear life. Sheva wondered how Albert could stay upright, much less aim with any sort of accuracy – but he had been making good use of his ammo by shooting out the motorcycle's front tires. Rather than trying to kill the majini, which took more bullets, he was just letting momentum and several hundred pounds of metal deal with them.

That changed when another truck driven by majini came barreling up to them with several majini in the back of it with crossbows and, dismayingly, more dynamite sticks. Albert gave the driver a scare when he leaped the gap between both vehicles and proceeded to slaughter the majini in the truck. As the bigger truck started lagging behind, now without anyone alive to steer it, he jumped back over to the Hummer.

They repeated a similar procedure once more; in the middle of which, their earpieces came to life, broadcasting Josh's urgent voice. _"We're under attack! There are too many of them to handle!"_

"_Reinforcements are en route. Hold your position until they arrive. Repeat: hold your position!"_

Hearing the transmission, the driver pressed down on the gas pedal. "Let's pick up the pace!"

After taking out another truck or two, suddenly the Hummer skidded to a halt and fishtailed around. A blockade had been set up for them, consisting of pieces of fence backed by another truck, with several majini standing there aiming their weapons at the BSAA agents. Chris and Sheva continued wielding the turrets, while Albert jumped out of the Hummer and proceeded to clear away the debris blocking their path.

With everything gone, the driver gunned the Hummer forward, and Albert deftly snagged the vehicle and pulled himself back into the bed. They had to fend off more trucks and motorcycles as they barreled down the path alongside the river, until they reached the point where the road crossed the river, only to find that the bridge was out. The diver gritted his teeth. "Hang on!" he called back.

With a lurch, the Hummer cleared the gap; Chris was caught off-guard and nearly tumbled from his perch, but Albert grabbed him as he flew by and pulled the marksman back into the bed of the Hummer. "Balance?" the tyrant remarked, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

Chris scowled as he climbed back into the roof of the Hummer. "Shut up, mister cliff-diver." Sheva chuckled.

They made it back into the village. The Hummer rumbled along more slowly now as its passengers scanned their surroundings. It was fully night and the Hummer's headlights swept across the deserted town, creating shafts of bright light that stood out against the darkness. As they toured through the empty streets, they noticed a few bodies, here and there, wearing BSAA uniforms. "What could've done this…?" Sheva muttered.

The Hummer rolled to a stop and everyone exited the vehicle. Chris, Sheva and Albert prowled around, on the lookout for enemies, while the driver trotted up to one of the bodies. Albert heard thunderous footsteps in the distance and hissed, eyes darting around until the sound came close enough for him to pinpoint the direction. The other two closed in on him, eyes wide as they wondered what in the world could be making those noises.

Suddenly, one of the other Hummers parked nearby flew toward them, crashing into the building behind them while Albert hauled his teammates out of the way. The next thing they knew, the driver yelled out in surprise as a huge, hulking _thing_ in the shadows loomed behind him. There was a sickening crunch as the creature's foot descended heavily and squashed him.

Chris and Sheva ran and hid behind the overturned Hummer. Albert stood boldly in front of the creature, taunting it with his presence and keeping its attention away from his companions. The giant lumbered after him, growing more and more frustrated when it was unable to catch the much faster tyrant. "I suggest that you run for the truck while I have this thing distracted!" Albert called to the two humans, skipping lightly out of the way of the giant's meaty fists.

Chris pushed Sheva urgently ahead of him as they ducked out from behind their shelter and went into a dead sprint for the Hummer. The giant spotted them and started to give chase, but Albert ran up behind it, grabbing its wrist and hauling the huge creature down to the ground. Before Ndesu could take a swipe at him, he had darted away to stand near the Hummer, where the other two had already taken up position.

Ndesu stalked heavily over to them while, all around, a handful of majini with crossbows and Molotov cocktails gathered, ready to harass the fighters. "I'll deal with the peanut gallery if you two can hold your own with the big one for a few seconds," Albert remarked over his shoulder.

Sheva cracked a wolfish grin as her turret began spinning in readiness. "Watch us."

Albert smirked and dashed right past the giant. Both turrets roared to life and peppered Ndesu with bullets as Albert made short work of the majini sniping at the Hummer. He returned to the main fight shortly, trotting up behind Ndesu. His brow furrowed in concentration. He remembered reading Leon's description of taking out the Regenerators using an infrared scope. His tyrant's vision could pick up some infrared waves; enough, it seemed, to pick out a Plaga's presence close to the host's skin as long as the rest of the host's body was cooler than the parasite. He'd noticed areas on the giant's skin that held a color he'd come to associate with infrared light, but until just then, he'd assumed they were part of the pigment of its skin. Now he smirked darkly and ran up to Ndesu while it was still distracted by the turrets. He leaped up and slammed one boot into its back, right where he saw a few stitches covering up one of those infrared hotspots.

A huge Plaga burst from the impact point, causing the giant to stagger and slump forward. The Plaga writhed uselessly in the air: clearly, it was defenseless. Albert grinned triumphantly and wrapped his hands around the base of the squirming parasite, pulling mightily to rip the thing free. The giant roared in protest and reared back, dislodging Albert. It spun around with a speed that belied its size and wrapped one broad paw around the tyrant, squeezing his upper body into a bloody pulp. The rest of his body fell to the ground, twitching spasmodically.

Chris and Sheva were taken aback when blackish tentacles surged out from the bleeding, mangled body, wrapping around the remains. They watched, horrified, as the tentacles sped up the already rapid regeneration of the tyrant's body, leaving a dark slimy film behind on his skin. Albert's eyes burned a bright gold and he breathed heavily, shuddering, staring at the writhing tentacles in apparent shock. Sheva cursed under her breath in Swahili and jumped out of the Hummer, eyeing the tyrant warily.

While this was going on Ndesu had recovered, retracting the Plaga back into its body, and turned its attention to the one who attacked it. It raised its arms, but before the blow could come, Albert spun to face the giant. He lunged and the tentacles still coiled around his upper body swarmed over the hulking giant, plunging into every opening they could find.

Gingerly, Chris slid off the roof of the Hummer to stand next to Sheva. "How…" Sheva breathed, looking to Chris questioningly.

He shook his head slowly, unable to tear his eyes from the spectacle at hand. Albert had withdrawn from the giant, whose body was quickly degrading into a puddle of tar; the tentacles had made short work of it. Meanwhile, Albert stood with his eyes tightly shut, breathing deeply as he struggled to re-impose control. "I wish I knew, Sheva."

Sucking in one last lungful of air, Albert expelled it in a heavy sigh and opened his eyes again. They were back to their usual red-orange. He looked over at the two humans, who watched him warily. Well, there was no hiding it now. He had hoped to keep it to himself as long as possible, and hadn't counted on that giant to move so fast. "Are you injured?" he asked, as much to break the uneasy silence as out of concern.

Chris relaxed marginally when the tyrant sounded like he was back to his usual self. "We're all right… are you?"

Albert licked his lips, tasting his own blood. "More or less."

"So, would you mind explaining what just happened?" Chris asked with an edge to his voice, gesturing at the tar that had recently been Ndesu. "Where did all that come from? You never mentioned anything."

"I didn't know anything about it either until I went over that cliff a few hours ago."

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. "And you didn't say anything to us, _why?_"

"Because I've been trying to figure out the hows and whys myself, Chris," Albert replied, his shoulders tensing. "I hadn't been aware that that B.O.W. infected me until it suddenly manifested while I was trying to get out of the river. How do you expect me to immediately know everything about an agent I was just exposed to? I'm just as confused as you are. We're lucky that so far I'm able to control it."

"Huh. Really. Didn't look like that just now."

"How about _you_ try to stay completely calm and in control after you've just had half of your body crushed, Christopher," Albert snapped.

By now, Sheva was lost. She didn't know what to think. She had been starting to actually trust him a little, but now that it looked like he was becoming like the thing that had killed Alpha team, she wasn't so sure. She looked around at the bodies of Delta team scattered around them. Wandering away from the quarreling Americans, she approached one of the bodies and knelt to collect the man's dogtags. "Where are you, Josh?" she said to no one. She didn't see the Delta team captain's body anywhere, which sparked a little bit of hope that he might have survived.

Chris sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. He knew that getting into a fight with Albert was pointless; they needed to focus on finding Irving, who was their only lead on Jill. The tyrant walked up to him. "Look, let's put this aside for now. Our priority is finding Jill," he said, echoing exactly what the marksman had been thinking. "I'm able to go on, and the more time we waste here increases the chance of the trail going cold."

Chris nodded in agreement. "Right." He looked for Sheva and saw the younger woman staring into space. She looked a little shell-shocked. He walked up to her. "Sheva, you don't have to do this. You can still back out," he told her.

She gave him an odd look. "What about you?"

"I've got a personal stake in this," Chris said, darkness creeping into his tone as Albert stepped up to them.

"'A personal stake'?" Sheva repeated incredulously. "Chris, look around! We should all get the hell out of here!"

"We're not here just for the mission," Albert cut in.

She switched her uneasy gaze to the tyrant. "What are you talking about?"

Chris glanced quickly over his shoulder at Albert. "A while back, we received some intel that my old partner was still alive. At first we weren't sure, but that file we got from Delta team sealed it."

Sheva looked away for a moment in disbelief. "That woman in the data file? Are you even sure it's the same person?"

Low and harsh, Albert's next words cut across the conversation like barbed wire. "I think I can recognize my own _wife_," he hissed. Sheva stared in shock at the tyrant, while Chris turned, preparing to walk toward one of the boats moored nearby. Albert stalked off after the marksman, leaving Sheva to stand there, her thoughts running in circles.

Sheva was quite rooted to the spot as the two Americans walked on. She was torn: on the one hand, she felt compelled to continue on. Her people were dying, wasn't it her responsibility to help? She had seen enough just in one day to convince her that it would take everything the BSAA had to stop this, perhaps more. However, Sheva was also sure that from this point on, she would be in over her head, even more than before. HQ wouldn't be there to send help. They would be on their own. If it had just been Chris, walking off alone to tackle this, she would have had no hesitation following him. But with Wesker there…

She had no doubt that the tyrant's presence would make the going much easier. She hesitated to wonder how difficult their progress would have been without him there to help. So at least Chris wouldn't be going alone, which did a lot to ease her conscience as she considered bailing out. They'd both already told her that she had the option, and at that point, she wasn't at all loath to take it. Chris may've been able to take Wesker's inhuman abilities in stride, but that wasn't something Sheva was having an easy time dealing with. Especially now that he had showed signs of becoming like the B.O.W. that had taken out Alpha team. She had no clue how Chris could overlook that outburst like it hadn't happened.

She sighed and jogged after them. "Chris, Wesker! Wait!"

The marksman paused, turning to raise an eyebrow at her. Albert kept walking.

She slowed to a halt not far from Chris. "I'm sorry…" she said, unable to meet his eyes. "But… I can't…"

Chris' expression relaxed. He put a hand on her shoulder sympathetically. "It's all right. I understand. Thanks for your help, Sheva." He gave her shoulder one last squeeze before spinning on one heel and trotting after Albert, who was waiting for him at the controls of one of the boats floating at the dock.

* * *

**So I decided to be merciful and not kill Sheva. She is gone, though, so now the fun really begins.**

**If it seemed like bringing in Uroboros so early was kinda sudden, I apologize. I just wanted to have Wesker get Uroboros kinda early in the game… it seemed like it would add another level of interest to the plot. Especially as things heat up later on! =D**

**That and it makes no sense that neither Chris nor Sheva broke with it at all. I mean, if Wesker was planning to spread it all over by exploding a missile, it follows that it would be airborne, right? SO HOW DID THEY NOT CATCH IT. I MEAN REALLY. CAPCOM, YOU MAKE NO SENSE.**

**Thanks for bearing with me and my spazmatastic Muse, peeps. I swear I'll get everything finished up eventually!**


	19. Enter the Caves

**Now we get some actual interaction and maybe digging a little into that rather pointless prolog and epilog speech Chris gives – the one about "is it all really worth it?" Really, I think Capcom just threw that in there because it sounded poetic. But I took a shine to it and so we'll listen to Chris and Wesker talk for a while in the place of that really long cutscene where Sheva gets nosy. Just narrating what everybody already knows happened in RE5 got boring so we're gonna mix things up a little more.**

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* * *

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Chris and Albert were silent as the boat hummed across the cloudy marsh water. Reeds slapped at the boat's hull, creating a staccato counterpoint to the fan's buzz and the rushing wind. Albert leaned back slightly in his seat, eyes distant. Chris turned to look into the tyrant's face. "You okay?"

"Thinking." He blinked, glancing down at the marksman. "I get the feeling that it was a good thing Sheva backed out," he remarked. "Things are bound to get even messier after this."

Chris sighed. "I kinda feel sorry for her… but you're right. Hell, we might end up dead by the end of this."

Albert snorted. "Maybe so, but I'm not going to let that stop me."

"Since when has it ever?" Chris raised an eyebrow at his friend. He knew very well that it was going to take death itself to stop Albert – not when there was so much at stake here.

"The same could easily be said of you, Chris," Albert replied wryly.

A wolfish grin spread across Chris' rugged features. "Then we'll end up going to hell side by side, huh?"

"Undoubtedly."

Chris chuckled to himself and straightened in his seat again, blinking against the wind rushing into his face. "Sometimes, I can't help but think that when that day comes, I'll be so relieved," he mused aloud. "We've had to deal with so much shit in our lifetimes."

A heavy sigh reached Chris' ears. "I know what you mean. But it's not over yet – not by a long shot."

"Oh, I know. It's just… have you ever wondered whether it's all really worthwhile? I mean, look at us. We succeeded in taking down Umbrella, but only a few years later and things have gotten _worse!_ I feel like we're trying to dig a hole in wet sand, Albert; every time we get another scoop of sand out, more falls in."

"Believe me, the same thoughts have crossed my mind many a time," Albert answered dismally. "But I don't think there's much we can do about it. Umbrella was just the beginning. It opened the floodgates, and now that the world has had a taste, there's no telling if there's anything we can do to stop it."

Chris snorted harshly. "So what's the fucking point, then? If there's nothing we can do… sometimes I wonder why the hell we bother in the first place."

Albert glanced, eyebrows raised, at Chris' back. "A few years ago, if I'd asked you that question, you would've said that anything is better than sitting around and doing nothing."

A bitter smile curled Chris' lips. "Yeah… and I still believe that. It's just that sometimes the pointlessness of it all catches up to me. Days like this, when God or whatever's up there pulling the strings seems to have taken a special dislike to me, are when this feeling – this wondering what the fuck I'm trying to accomplish – hits the hardest."

Albert was silent for a moment and Chris assumed that the conversation had tapered to a halt, but then the tyrant spoke up again with an uncharacteristic softness in his voice. "It's hard to find a reason to keep going, sometimes, isn't it? Even though, nine times out of ten, we're the ones urging everyone else on, there are times when that energy source just dries up. Wouldn't it be nice if someone else took the reins every once in a while?"

Chris chuckled wanly. "Yeah, that would be nice… for the first five minutes. And then one of us would find something wrong with the other person's methods and butt in. We just can't escape it, Al. It's in our natures."

A low laugh bubbled up from Albert's chest. "You're right there."

Soon after that, they reached the first little island in the marsh. There they found the dead body of another BSAA agent with an unsent message on his PDA detailing what was thought to have happened to Delta team. Chris looked warily at the spears that perforated the dead operative while Albert looked through the man's PDA to see if there was any other useful information. He found none. They left the island, Chris with the soldier's dogtags in his pocket as they jumped back onto the boat and headed for the next island.

They found a map and a big door – the barred path the soldier's PDA message had described. Albert slammed his weight into the door, but it only shuddered and gave a creak of protest. Rolling his eyes at such a pointless obstacle, he jumped up to the roofed-over platform that surmounted the gate. He knelt and extended a hand down to Chris and helped haul the marksman up. Chris noticed that there was a wall between them and the other side of the wall – but a few sharp kicks broke through the wooden planks. Albert lowered Chris to the ground on the other side, before hopping down himself. Chris examined the lock now that they were on the other side of the big double-doors. "It looks like we would've had to find something to fit into that depression on the other side to make it open," he remarked.

"Why go through all that when my way was so much faster?" Albert inquired smugly.

"With the way these sorts of things work out, we would've ended up wandering all over the damn marsh," Chris muttered. "I prefer your way, personally." He sighed wearily and sat on the edge of the platform, all of a sudden looking drained. Albert glanced over at him, studying his friend's face. The deep, bruised bags under his eyes had been there for some time, and mostly the tyrant had been too preoccupied to notice, but now he finally really noticed how tired Chris was. They'd been on the move all day, under the hot sun as often as not, going from one combat situation to another with few breaks. The Hummer ride back to the village had been uneventful after crossing the river, but like the boat ride to get to this island, that respite had been short. Albert had to remind himself that Chris didn't have the same endurance level he did.

"It's still dark," he observed, stepping back from the edge of the platform. "We won't make very good progress until you can see more than a few feet in front of your face. You look dead beat, Chris. We've barely stopped to piss since we got here. I think a few hours' rest is in order."

Chris chuckled wanly. "I'm glad you made that statement. I would've suggested it earlier, but you were intent on pushing forward."

Contrition flashed across Albert's expression. "Sorry, Chris. I don't mean to push you so hard –"

"I'd be pushing myself just as hard if you weren't here, Albert, believe me. I just don't know where you get your energy sometimes." Chris stood up and went over to the big locked gates. "The other side of this was deserted, and I think there was a little hut that we could shelter under in case it rains. Think you could get this thing open from here?"

The tyrant came to stand next to Chris and inspected the mechanism. A twist of his knife pried apart a few pieces that were too close together to access, and from there he could dismantle the lock by hand. Smugly, Albert gave the gates a push and they swung open obediently. "Ta-da."

Chris gathered up the shattered pieces of old dry wood from the structure Albert had destroyed to get through the gate before and carried them under the thatched roof of a hut on one side of the little spit of land, while Albert took the boat out a short distance to fish. Chris had voiced his doubts about that notion, but he had admitted that getting food would be nice. They had been counting on keeping in close contact with the BSAA through the whole mission, so they hadn't brought food supplies with them that hadn't already been ruined or lost during battle.

While Chris – who, luckily, still had his firestriker in a belt pouch – set up their temporary camp, Albert crouched on the edge of the boat and dangled a thin tentacle in the water. It took a while for the aquatic wildlife that had been scared off by the noise of the boat's fan to return, but once they did, a few fish came up to investigate this wormy thing in their domain. Once they got close enough to the surface, Albert lashed out with his other hand and grabbed the fish, neatly snapping its neck and dropping it onto the deck. He got two before calling it quits and heading back for the island.

When Albert dropped a pair of goodly-sized fish at his side, Chris looked up incredulously into the tyrant's smirking face. "I stand corrected… how did you catch those? I didn't see any line or bait on the boat…"

"I move fast enough that I don't need a line if they're close enough," Albert replied smugly, sitting next to him and drawing his knife so he could clean one of the fish. Chris cleaned the other, silently shaking his head. They spitted the fillets and tossed the offal into the water, where it was promptly disposed of.

The two of them stared into the fire and watched their dinner cook. A sigh, full of impatience and worry, broke the moment of silence. Albert glanced over at his friend's troubled expression. "We'll find her, Chris," he said; softly, but with conviction.

"I know… but I feel like sitting around like this is going to let Irving slip through our fingers. He's our only lead, and what if he's the only one who knows anything about Jill's whereabouts? If he gets away, we'll be back to square one!" The marksman clenched his fists.

"The way the situation is now, Chris, it's not plausible for Irving to evade the BSAA for much longer. And even if he does, we're not back at square one. We have that data file, which is way more than we've had in years. We'll have a place to start our investigation anew, BSAA approval or not." Albert leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees, head tilted to observe his friend. "You can't let these obstacles get your spirit down, Chris. We've had it tough before, and it'll get worse from here. But I, for one, refuse to stop until I get closure, whatever form it happens to take."

Chris swallowed hard. "Yeah, I know. And neither will I. But I think I'm entitled to a few moments of melancholy, aren't I?"

"'Melancholy?' I didn't think you even knew what that word meant," Albert teased, a smirk playing about his lips.

"Oh shut up."

Albert chuckled and reached into the coals of the fire. He cracked open the shell of now-baked mud protecting the fish and peeled away the layers of leaves underneath. Chris did the same for his, and while the steaming white meat cooled, they picked delicately at the fish with the points of their knives.

"In all seriousness, Chris, you do have a point," Albert said after a time. "And believe me, I felt and still feel the same. It's hard to keep up the façade all the time."

Chris snorted around a mouthful of fish. "And yet you keep it up more than anyone I've known."

"It's in my nature and you're well aware of that. But I do have my moments – you've been privy to most of them over the past three years."

Chris nodded, gazing sightlessly into the fire. "Hnn. And likewise."

They lapsed back into silence while they finished eating, discarded the wrappings, and settled down to nap through the rest of the night. It was decided that Albert would take watch – Chris didn't really have much of a choice. Besides Albert having better night-adjusted senses, if he dozed off, he was a light enough sleeper that the slightest noise would wake him.

The lazy slap of marsh water against the pier and the whispering reeds lulled Albert into a state of quiet introspection as he watched the glowing coals slowly cool into gray ash. For a long time they held a reddish glow that Chris wouldn't have been able to detect. He looked up from the remains of the fire and scanned the scenery. Many times, if they were outside to stargaze, Jill would rest against his chest and ask him what the world looked like. How many stars could he see that she couldn't? Those glowing green circles in the trees – was manner of creature did it belong to? How many frogs and crickets and owls were singing? Under the inescapable scents of asphalt and gasoline and garbage, could he smell sap from nearby pine trees, or the last tantalizing hints of flowers that had closed up for the night?

Jill had always been fascinated with the way he saw the world through his fine-tuned senses. She would listen with an almost child-like fascination as he'd point out a particular blossom that bore markings in ultraviolet colors to guide visitors to the nectar at its core – markings that he and the bees could detect, but she could only wonder. He had tried his hardest to describe these new colors, but it was like trying to describe the Mona Lisa to someone who had been born blind.

He wasn't sure if she had known, but he treasured those moments. Being able to have someone there who wasn't put off, who embraced what he was and tried her hardest to understand and see what he saw… there weren't words to describe how much that meant to him. If not for that, he would be so alienated from the rest of the world because there was no one else who could fathom what it was like. For a long time before they'd met, he'd been mostly removed from society – but that had been by choice. Necessity had kept him from forming many deep, meaningful relationships with other people. It had been blissful ignorance, in a way.

He clenched his jaw against the years-old pain this reminiscing conjured. Since Jill's disappearance, he'd learned to cope. Time, according to the favored adage, heals – but Albert knew better. Some emotional wounds never fully heal. And like any other painkiller, time does nothing for the wound itself; it only provides a numbing ease. It gives distance, and grants the ability to put aside the hurt and move on with life. But it doesn't last forever, and worrying away at the wound stirs up the pain afresh. He knew that, but he couldn't help the paths his mind took.

In a way, it would have been easier if she had died. If they had found her body, broken, at the foot of the cliff. Whether or not Nathan's corpse had been there, if only there had been _a _body, it would have given much more peace of mind. Languishing in uncertainty, always having that nagging little thought in the back of his mind, was a far worse fate. Hope was a double-edged sword. Hope meant not being able to rest until he knew for certain. And after three long years, he was so tired.

Crocodiles patrolled the waters, given away by the subtle rippling sounds as their passage stirred the water and the reflective green ovals of their eyes. He watched them, rough gray shadows against the silver-dappled glassy surface of the water.

It had been a long time since he had taken a moment to just sit back and let the nighttime tranquility soak in. He eased onto his back so that he could see around the thatch roof and gazed up into the sky, scanning the star-studded bowl for any familiar constellations. He decided that, if the circumstances hadn't been what they were, this would have been a pleasant location.

When he was sure that there was nothing around other than a few crocs and other nocturnal animals, and that nothing was likely to creep up on them, he let his eyes slide closed. He had long ago perfected the art of catnapping, and he trusted his body enough to wake up should anything go awry. He made a mental note to wake himself up at dawn and then let the water sounds pull him into a doze.

The eastern half of the sky had lightened into gray and the horizon had a tinge of rosy pink when Albert's eyes snapped open. He stretched languidly, smirking when his vertebrae crackled back into place, and rolled his neck until it popped. A quick glance to one side reassured him that Chris was still asleep. He gathered more wood and resurrected the fire, then dug through their packs for water. Naturally, the plastic bottles were all empty. They did have purification tablets, so he took shameless advantage of those to refill the bottles. He was just repacking them when a sleepy grunt heralded Chris' return to the waking world. "I was about to come over there and shake you," Albert commented when his peripheral vision caught the marksman sitting up.

Chris yawned, running a hand through his hair. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath and caught the water bottle he was tossed, chugging half of it down to help him wake up in the absence of caffeine. He splashed the rest over his head and face, earning himself a chuckle from Albert, and tossed the empty bottle back to let Albert refill it again before they moved on.

Back to business as usual. They hopped down from the platform and waded through hip-deep marsh water – Chris sucked in a gasp at the temperature, which was fairly chilly yet, since the sun was barely up – under a sporadic barrage of dynamite sticks, then trotted up into a village of some sort. Chris looked around, confused, as they cautiously proceeded deeper into the seemingly empty village. "I wonder who lives here?" he muttered.

"This is probably one of the last places where the Ndipaya tribe can be found mostly free of Western influence," Albert responded. "They used to populate a much wider area, but when Western explorers started arriving they were pushed back."

"And you know this how?"

"I spent part of my childhood in this area, remember? While my parents were busy in the lab, they had a local woman look after me and she taught me a lot." Albert's eyes gazed into the far past even as he scanned the area for any sign of movement.

At that point, villagers decked out in warpaint flooded into the open from the huts around them, and the BSAA agents busied themselves fighting them off. An eerie, ululating battle-cry heralded the arrival or two unexpected majini. They towered easily three feet over everyone else, and had massive headdresses on their shoulders that deflected Chris' bullets. The marksman let Albert take care of them and concentrated on guarding his friend's back against the other villagers.

The tyrant made short work of the giant majini by bringing them to the ground – the headdresses, as cumbersome as they were, put the big majini at a disadvantage – and smashing through their skulls. Thankfully, there was only one wave of majini, so once they had cleared the village out, they could wander unmolested. While they poked around, hoping to find some hint as to Irving's whereabouts, they found the diary of a village boy. Chris read it aloud, fighting back disgust the whole time. "Now I really can't wait to get to the oil field," he remarked darkly. "This is pathetic. They even infected these natives!"

Albert didn't reply, and they boarded the gondola, which took them across a wide expanse of reed-filled marsh until they reached another settlement. They trotted through a short passage, just in time to see the body of a dead BSAA agent dangling over the water before a huge crocodile lunged straight up out of the water and clamped the body in its jaws. More infected villagers spotted the two BSAA agents, through which they fought to release the drawn bridge and escape the execution grounds. They trotted through a short, sloping tunnel and found what looked like a campsite of sorts. Albert grimly pointed to the Tricell symbols on the canvas of the tents. "I think we know who infected those villagers. And remember what I mentioned about the Consortium a few weeks ago?"

Chris sighed deeply, shaking his head. "I never doubted your word, Albert. I'm not naïve enough to believe that Tricell has any altruistic reason to be here. I can't say I'm surprised, but it's still a kick in the face."

They wandered through the array of tents, finding cots as if for invalids and a variety of medical supplies inside. Clearly, this was the location mentioned by the village boy's diary. Albert grabbed one of the used syringes in a biohazard disposal unit and tucked it into his pack, in case there were traces of the infectious agent left in it for the labs back at HQ to find. Then, they moved on past the arrangement of tents, and found themselves at the oil field. More majini – thankfully not the tribesmen from the marsh – swarmed out into the maze of pipes and steel walkways to meet them. On their way across, they were chased by not one, but two more chainsaw-wielding majini – however, this time, Albert didn't have the patience to fool around, so he made quick work of them.

Once they got into the building itself, they came into a room whose dominant feature was an elevator. The room seemed to be empty, but Albert picked up a faint heartbeat from nearby. While Chris prowled around with gun at the ready, the tyrant went toward the source of the sounds. He also heard quick, nervous breathing, as if the one making it was trying hard to be quiet. Clearly a human – and not a majini, or they wouldn't be concerned about stealth. "Show yourself," he barked. "If you aren't an enemy of the BSAA, you won't be harmed." He was preparing to repeat the command in Swahili, when a familiar figure emerged into view and approached.

"Josh," Chris said, relief coloring his tone as he stepped up next to Albert. "How did you get here?" He certainly looked the worse for wear, with shallow scratches across his face and blood spattered over his torn vest.

Josh glanced from Chris to Albert and back. "We were at the port when we were attacked. There were too many, and we had to take some of the boats to get away before we were overrun. We were picked off through the marshes… there were only a few by the time we got to the oil field. I think I'm the only one left." He looked up at them. "Where's the rest of the team?"

Chris averted his gaze uneasily, and Josh spat a curse. "Shit. Even Sheva?" His voice sounded slightly pained.

"Sheva is alive, the last we heard of her," Albert told him. "But because of the circumstances, we convinced her to back out."

Josh gave them a look as if they were insane. "Why did you not retreat? I mean, we're no match for them!"

"We have unfinished business," Chris stated, his jaw set. "That data file we got from their hard drive contained some info we've been after."

Josh didn't look convinced. "Info on what?"

"Someone close, who's been missing for some time," Albert explained tersely. "And come hell or high water, we're going to find out what's going on." His tone left no room for arguments or questions. Then, he abruptly tensed, and his gaze snapped to one side. Chris instinctively pointed his gun in that direction, while Josh raised his own gun, confusion slowing his reaction.

By the time the two humans heard the approaching majini, Albert had already gone into action. He met the first intruder as the majini dropped into the area, and deftly twisted the man's head until his neck snapped. Chris and Josh were kept busy firing at a few more majini. When it became clear that the enemies would continue to advance, Josh broke off from the fight with Chris covering him, and started typing frantically into the console next to the elevator.

Albert jumped up to the floor above and, while he waited for the two humans to unlock the elevator to follow, he went to work on the reinforced metal door that was their ticket out. When he noticed that it too was locked, he decided that trying to unlock it was too time-consuming, so he set his fingers into the gap between the door and the doorjamb and pulled. The metal creaked and groaned in protest, but after a few moments, the automatic lock gave way and he pried it open. By then, Josh had gotten the elevator working, and he and Chris came running over, fighting through the swarm of majini. Albert held the door for them, and once they had gotten through, he swung into the room and slammed the door behind him, leaning against it to stop the majini on the other side from getting through.

Josh and Chris stood there for a moment to regain their breath. Josh straightened up and looked between the two Americans. "Everybody okay?" When he got nods in response, he took a deep breath. "It looks like Irving is trying to blow up the place and make his escape. You must stop him before it is too late. I'll try to find us a way out of here."

"All right, we'll go after Irving," Chris said firmly, glancing to Albert, who smirked darkly in anticipation.

"Good. Now, there's a dock up ahead. That is probably where he is going to make his break," Josh continued, gesturing toward the staircase behind them. Albert headed for it immediately, but before they parted ways, Chris called back for Josh to be careful. The BSAA captain nodded in acknowledgment.

They proceeded out of the building to the dock, and as they trotted into the open, they saw a yacht floating at anchor next to a much smaller, sleek speedboat. Irving could be seen strolling across the deck, prompting both BSAA agents to run forward with guns drawn. A black-cloaked figure, the same one that had appeared before to rescue Irving, dropped into the speedboat and took off. Chris watched the mystery person with confusion on his face, but Albert ignored them in favor of keeping focused on their current target, who had cracked a cocky grin at them.

"Splendid timing! Youse two are just in time for the fireworks show! Boom!" He threw his arms wide and laughed as the yacht's engine rumbled to life. The big boat started moving. Chris made as if to run after it, but Albert grabbed his shoulder. There was no point.

"_Chris, do you read me? I secured a boat. I'm on the other side of the dock – get here on the double!"_ Josh' voice came over their earpieces just as they turned to face the handful of majini that were thundering across the pier toward them. Albert made quick work of the frontrunners, and as they worked their way toward the other end of the dock, a series of explosions rocked the oil refinery. They made it to the boat as the last few charges detonated, turning the refinery into an inferno boiling thick, acrid black smoke into the air.

"What happened to Irving?" Josh inquired once they were well away. Chris and Albert just exchanged glances. "Ah. Well, he can't have gone too far," he said, stooping to pick something up from the floor of the boat.

Chris stood up, surprised at Josh's willingness to help them. He opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly Albert shot to his feet, gun drawn and aimed behind them. He fired off several shots in rapid succession toward majini in pursuing motorboats. He dropped the ones with crossbows by the time the humans turned to face the oncoming enemies, and Chris helped take out the other boats' steersmen before the majini could catch up.

By then, they were passing through an area where oil lines crisscrossed the marsh, on which more majini were perched. They entered a canal partitioned by a series of gates that the majini dropped, but those were bypassed quickly enough. After they got through that blockade, for some time they just drifted through a mangrove-like part of the marsh. They had quite thoroughly lost Irving's trail; that was, until from out of the fog, the yacht they had been seeking suddenly loomed up. The sporadic thunder from overhead had masked its engines' rumble so not even Albert noticed it until the mist parted. They almost ran into the larger vessel, and swerving to avoid it nearly capsized their boat. Majini opened fire from the turrets mounted on the yacht's deck. Bullets pattered like metal raindrops into the water around the boat, and some found their marks buried in the hull.

Chris cursed as the boat rocked. Josh gunned the boat forward and Albert raised his gun, sniping out the majini behind the turret. Once that majini was reduced to a bubbling puddle of tar, they could safely approach the yacht. Albert jumped directly onto the bigger vessel's deck, while Chris hauled himself up the ladder. As the marksman climbed, Irving descended the stairs to one side of the cabin and slowly stepped toward them.

"Won't you two just die already? You're makin' me look bad!" Irving sneered. "Who do you think got this entire operation off the ground? Research like this doesn't fund itself, y'know! Yet everyone looks down on me." His gaze wandered to the syringe he held clenched in his left hand. "But not anymore."

"No!" Chris barked, watching Irving raise the syringe. The BSAA agents balked from rushing him, not knowing what their enemy was about to do. Irving stabbed the syringe into his neck.

Albert cursed under his breath and stepped back a pace. Irving fell to his knees, groaning in pain; something visibly slithered under the skin of his back, and through his blazer burst numerous tentacles. These were thick and fleshy, not like the slimy tendrils Albert's body harbored. Both Americans kept their guns raised warily while the tentacles supported Irving's broken body; his spine had clearly been mutilated by the tentacles' manifestation. Saliva dribbled from Irving's mouth as he slurred, "I'm far beyond anything you could ever hope to become!"

Tentacles deviated from the mass holding Irving's body up and shot toward them. They dodged and Chris fired off several shots, but the column of tentacles jerked aside and catapulted him off the side of the yacht. Albert and Chris trotted to the rail and peered into the choppy water, but saw nothing. From below, something collided with the boat, causing the deck to shudder and roll under their feet. Chris staggered and fell just as several huge tentacles the girth of tree trunks slid out of the river and across the deck. Albert pulled his friend up and they both watched the "head" of the monster rear up out of the water. The three mandibles parted to reveal Irving's body, barely recognizeable, nestled at its heart. Albert got a few shots off that grazed the pulsating remnants of Irving's human body; the mandibles snapped shut with a high-pitched squeal. The monster leaped clear out of the river and sailed over the yacht to splash down and disappear back into the water on the other side, leaving the BSAA agents spinning wildly in search of their enemy.

They had to rely mostly on the turrets since the kraken didn't often approach the boat. When it did, in an attempt to clamp its crooked teeth around them, Albert knew not to grab it. It could easily lift him and toss him into the water, where he would be at a severe disadvantage. The battle was a grueling one and there were several close shaves where Chris almost didn't dodge in time, but eventually the kraken gave its last keen and sank below the river, leaving Irving's mutated body bleeding and twitching on the deck.

"Tell us what you're planning," Chris barked as they approached the groaning, writhing remnant of a human being.

"Damn Excella… I guess I wasn't worth the good stuff," Irving wheezed. Chris didn't think anything of the sentence, but Albert filed away the name for further contemplation. He pulled out his PDA and brought up the information retrieved from the hard drive – namely, the image of Jill – and showed it to Irving. "Where is this facility? Tell me, Irving – what is the Uroboros project?"

Irving gave a weak chuckle, spattering blood from his lips onto the PDA screen. "BSAA… wow, youse two are just on top of everyt'ing, aren'cha? The balance of the world is changing and you're completely oblivious to it…"

Chris stepped forward with a grown. "What are you talking about? Is it the Uroboros project?"

"It's too late now… no one can stop it. Uroboros is about to change everything that we've ever come to know –" Irving trailed off into a scream of pain as his deformed body seized convulsively. Chris called out for Albert to back away, though the tyrant only stood and wiped the blood off his PDA.

Panting, Irving managed to crack a crazed smirk. "Albert? Albert _Wesker?_ So you're the one…" he cackled.

A low growl bubbled up from the tyrant's chest. "How do you know me?"

"All your answers await ahead… in the cave. If you can survive long enough to get them!" He wheezed another laugh. "Dyin's not so bad – but it's not gonna change anything. You're still screwed!"

Lip curled in a silent snarl, Albert harshly slammed his boot into Irving's throat, cutting off the raspy cackling. Even before he could bear down with any more weight, Irving's body started bubbling away to tar. He felt a hand on his shoulder and backed away, eyes flashing, before turning toward Chris. The marksman gave Irving's shriveled remains a look of pity.

Albert gestured with a jerk of his head and prowled off to another part of the boat to deal with whoever was driving, while Chris radioed Josh to give him the okay to approach the yacht. By the time Albert returned, looking considerably more composed, Josh had brought their motorboat up next to the yacht. The Americans climbed down into the boat and they sped off, leaving the yacht crippled and abandoned.

They followed the direction the yacht had been heading and soon found their path at a dead end in the dark maw of a cave. Josh slowed the boat to a crawl and they drifted into the cave, scanning alertly in case enemies awaited them. They located the dock and steered for it. Albert pointed to the speedboat docked nearby – it was the getaway boat Irving's cloaked accomplice used.

The boat drifted to a halt and the Americans disembarked. "You two are really gonna go through with this?" Josh asked, though he already knew the answer.

"This isn't just about finding Jill – from what Irving said, this Uroboros project is going to need investigation as well," Chris said. In the back of his mind, he knew his friend had other ideas, but since Uroboros and Jill seemed to be in the same general location, he knew Albert would play along for now.

"I guess there's nothing I can do to stop you," Josh remarked. "I will call HQ and try to get the withdrawal order rescinded, and get some backup. Try not to get yourselves killed." Chris gave a firm nod, and with a final salute, Josh turned the boat around and sailed out of the cave.

"Irving mentioned a name before he died. Excella," Albert suddenly said. "The first thing that came to my mind is Excella Gionne, who is the CEO of Tricell Africa and an officer in the GPC. I think we can take it as a given that she is involved."

"And where does that leave us?" Chris asked.

"In trouble if this place is what I think it is." Chris knew that the tyrant would say no more on the matter until he knew more, so he didn't bother asking what he meant by that cryptic comment.

Before they even left the dock, they decided to investigate the speedboat used by the cloaked person, just in case they left anything behind. Chris let Albert do the honors while he scouted ahead a bit – he didn't get far before Albert called him back. The tyrant was standing at the wheel, stiff as a board with an intense expression on his face. "What?" Chris demanded, knowing he'd found something.

Albert was silent. He leaned close to the steering wheel and inhaled deeply, eyes closed in concentration. The dash and the area all around was given a thorough inspection. By the time Albert finally hopped back onto the pier, Chris was twitching with impatience. "What did you find?"

Albert brushed past him, deeper into the cave. "I thought I found a trace of Jill's scent in that boat," he said simply. Chris trotted after his friend eagerly. "The trail is incredibly faint, but it's here," Albert muttered, mostly to himself. He was following the elusive scent so intently that he barely noticed the rocky soil in front of them boil up around a few insect-like creatures with hooked black claws.

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**Am I the only one who thought it was kind of odd that the Ndesu fight happens when it's still pitch dark, but that long cutscene before ch 3 starts takes place in what looks like daylight under all those clouds? Where did all the time go? O_o And Josh's explanation of where he'd been seems incredibly half-assed. "we were attacked and then, well, I ended up here." Bullshit. Lazy Capcom.  
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**And yes, I know that the ending is kinda abrupt, but it was a good a place to stop as any and I have about fifteen minutes until my next class. So. We get a sort of cliffhanger because they actually thought to look for clues!  
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	20. Reunited

**I am hacking up my lungs all over creation, but we'll see how far we can get. Soon here we'll get to the part where I actually deviate from the gameplay and things get exciting. I realized that just derping along with the game isn't very interesting for anyone. And yes, derp is now a verb.**

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The maze of ruins bore witness to the ancient splendor that had once inhabited these underground caverns. Chris was awestruck for a moment, but Albert's mood only spiraled lower. He knew what they were heading toward, and it was just as he'd feared. Someone had stumbled upon the old Umbrella base in these caves, and they had found the wellspring that had given rise to the Progenitor virus. He was certain now that the Uroboros project was being conducted in that base. Tricell had probably come in to donate some of its technology to refurbish the old base and get it back into working order so that new research could be done using the virus that could still be harvested here and only here. Uroboros would probably have been less of a priority in his mind, had he not been exposed to the agent. He was certain that this new virus he'd contracted had to be Uroboros – it was nothing like any other Progenitor-based virus he'd ever seen. Even so, since the contagion seemed benign enough for now, he was more focused on finding Jill. There would be the opportunity to study this new virus back at HQ, but Jill was still missing and that was the main reason he was here.

They descended into the ruins, where they were met by more of the tribesmen from the marshes. These were considerably stronger and more agile than the majini from the town. Chris was lucky he had a tyrant for a partner: there were many times that Albert's superhuman speed or strength kept them from being trapped or worse. When the tall statues lining a long, curved hallway started falling on them and forcing them to run for their lives (well, forcing _Chris_ to run for his life) it was only Albert's quick reflexes that kept the marksman from falling into a pit that suddenly opened up beneath his feet.

"How long has this been here?" Chris asked aloud, talking mostly to himself, when the tug on a hefty, braided rope caused a staircase to rise up in front of them from the floor. He was surprised that such a mechanism existed in this place, which had an air of great age about it. If the Ndipaya people had actually built that into this temple, they must have had remarkably advanced technology for having existed so long ago. Of course, he knew it was entirely likely that whoever had found this place and infected the tribespeople with Las Plagas could have installed the moving stairways.

"Hundreds of years. When Spencer and his people came here, though, they were run out of this network of caves, and this area was refurbished to boobytrap any outsiders who felt adventurous," Albert replied, startling Chris.

"You seem to know quite a lot about this place for having only been here once when you were a kid," Chris remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's been a fascination of mine. Spencer always jealously guarded any information about this place, so I couldn't learn much about it until after we retrieved the UMF-13 from Russia. Once I had that information at my fingertips, I did quite a lot of research on this facility and its history. A lot of information was missing from it – we found some of it in the data the BSAA managed to lift from the computers in Spencer's mansion in Europe, but there's still quite a bit missing. I have a feeling that once we get into the base itself, which isn't far if I remember correctly, we'll get the answers Irving promised us."

Chris snorted at the mention of Irving. "At least he was useful in the end."

After fighting off another popokarimu and working their way through a puzzle of focused sunbeams, they came to an odd room that inspired very different reactions from the two Americans. Chris furrowed his brow in confusion at the sight of flowers growing underground. Even though a shaft of light filtered down from above, it seemed an unlikely place for a patch of flowering plants. And such strange blossoms they were.

As soon as they walked into the room, Albert's senses were accosted with the smell of these flowers. The scent hit him like a brick wall, putting a minor hitch in his step. He tilted his head back and inhaled deeply, eyes falling half-shut as he drank in the smells. Though Chris' senses weren't fine-tuned enough to detect it, the flowers gave off their own unique fragrance. It was impossible to describe. Sweet, but with an edge of astringence that was unlike anything he'd ever smelled before. It was intoxicating in its own way – though quite delicate, it was almost overpowering. It evoked an odd feeling in the back of his mind. Calming, but at the same time, it cleared his head and energized him.

Chris walked up the steps of the raised dais on which the flowers grew, and knelt to pick one of the curious blossoms. "These can't be ordinary flowers... what the hell is this place?" he asked, turning to look over his shoulder at Albert.

"This is where it all began," the tyrant said quietly. Chris regarded him oddly as Albert ascended the steps and stood next to him. "This plant is called Stairway to the Sun – at least in English. It's native to this part of Africa and will not grow anywhere else, no matter the care taken to husband it. It is legendary among the Ndipaya people – it is said that anyone who could survive ingesting the blossom would gain extraordinary power and rule their people for hundreds of years. The plant is poisonous – highly so." Chris quickly dropped the flower he'd picked, but Albert crouched to pick it back up. "This is the reason Umbrella built its base here – the reason Umbrella exists at all."

Chris wiped his hands on his pants and stood, still frowning. "Why? What use would Umbrella have for a flower?"

Albert held the flower out to Chris. "If you were to take a sample from the ovule of this flower and isolate the DNA, you would find an insertion in the genome that, when the seed germinates, triggers the manufacture of a primitive strain of the Progenitor virus. That's what makes the plant tissues so toxic."

Chris eyed the flower as if it were about to come to life and bite him. Albert smirked and took a whiff from the yellow core of the flower, then he let the blossom fall. "They could never figure out why these plants refuse to germinate in soil that isn't taken from this cave system. That's why they built the base here, in order to harvest Progenitor. And that's why Spencer guarded the secrets of this place so jealously, so that his rivals couldn't swoop in and take away his precious garden." He turned in place to survey the room, then pointed to the hunk of rusted-over metal along the wall. "Take a closer look at that."

Chris trotted back down and went over to the container. Wiping away a layer of grime and dust revealed the Umbrella logo, peeling with age, on the surface. He turned as Albert casually descended, and watched as the tyrant gestured to the newer equipment across the room. "And here again we see signs of Tricell's involvement. I can't be certain yet whether someone with a previous connection to Umbrella stumbled on this place and then led Tricell here, or if some representative of Tricell somehow found it. Either way, they must have reopened this base and harvested Progenitor from these flowers to launch the Uroboros project."

"You think Nathan has something to do with it either way, don't you?" Chris inquired shrewdly.

"This has his name written all over it. He was close enough to Marcus that he could have even worked here at one point and managed to escape the cull when Spencer closed it down. And if he wasn't here, I doubt I'd have smelled that trace of Jill's scent. I lost it as soon as we started dealing with too many majini, but from here we'll be going through an Umbrella base, so I hope the trail might clear up." Albert smirked and headed for the door set into an alcove at the other end of the room.

The transition from rough-hewn cave walls and native stone to smooth concrete and metal piping was abrupt. They passed into an area with blood sprayed across the walls, and though it didn't faze either of them, it put them on their guard. "Lickers," Albert muttered over his shoulder. "These are from Lickers. I thought I saw one crawling across the ceiling earlier."

"I hate Lickers," Chris grunted.

And there were a lot of them. Albert growled low in the back of his throat when he noticed that these Lickers were different from the ones he was used to seeing: they were bigger, more muscular. Less humanoid. Someone had imported samples of the t-virus and developed a new variation of Lickers, much like the new variants of Las Plagas they had been seeing. He was sure that these new Lickers and Plagas were incidental – probably just something to sell on the black market to fund the Uroboros project.

Then they came to a huge space – too big to be called a room – whose appearance made gave the two BSAA agents pause. The cylindrical space seemed almost like it had no floor, and the walls were lined with row upon column of capsules. Chris' stomach sank even before he fully realized what this place's purpose was. "What the hell..."

"Well, I'll give them points for sophistication," Albert commented ironically. He recognized this area from the data files, and so he stepped out toward the computer console at the center of the platform dominating the middle of the space. Chris paused to watch one of the capsules extend forward and open, letting the emaciated body inside it plummet into the shadows below. Feeling sick to his stomach at the scale of this place, he turned away from the retreating capsule and came up behind Albert.

A few rapid commands typed into the computers brought up a ledger of all the subjects stored in the capsules along the walls. "Jill V. Wesker" flashed expectantly for a moment as the computer scrolled through its ledger, then it found the data and showed an image of the subject in question. Albert's hands clenched into fists on the keyboard and Chris stepped closer eagerly. The platform obediently began to descend deeper, toward the capsule indicated by their search.

Chris couldn't help but scan the walls as they passed. "They must be taking people from all over the world," he commented, caught somewhere between awe and horror. Albert didn't reply. He was staring intently at the screen in front of him, waiting. This was going too smoothly. Something was wrong. Abruptly, the platform shuddered to a halt and the screen flashed red.

From below came the sounds of a hard exoskeleton clacking against metal, and Albert whirled on his heel to face the monstrous BOW that reared up behind them. Chris immediately followed suit and raised his gun, firing into the gaping mouth of the tick-like creature. Frustration was clear in Albert's sneer. They made fairly quick work of U-8 after Albert ripped off a plate of its armored carapace and shoved a grenade into the resulting weak-point. Once the creature had fallen down and out of sight, the platform resumed its descent. Albert gave the computer console a suspicious glance as they soon halted once more, and one of the pods lining the wall extended out toward them.

Chris stepped forward expectantly. The pod's front half swung open slowly and the arms across it retracted, but nothing was there to fall out onto the platform. It was empty. Chris swore angrily under his breath and turned away from the empty pod. He knew he shouldn't have expected any less, given the scent trail Albert had found. That didn't stop him from hoping. He looked over at Albert, who hadn't even bothered to move. Before either of them could say more, a new window appeared on the screen behind them. "Dr. Wesker. So nice to make your acquaintance."

Albert prowled up to the console, expression blank, and watched the image of a buxom younger woman smirk at them. "Excella Gionne, I assume," he said impassively.

"I'm flattered that you recognize me," Excella purred with mock-approval. "But I thought you two were given orders to retreat."

"So it was you," Chris growled.

"Where is Jill," Albert snapped. The razor edge to his voice made it a demand rather than a question.

Excella huffed. "Even if I did know, do you think I would tell you?"

Chris took an aggressive step toward the console. "Cut the crap and tell us where she is!"

Excella regarded them scathingly. "Once you two finish with your little vigilante mission, you should leave. There's nothing here worth throwing your lives away for." The videocall cut off and the window it had opened on the screen flashed closed. Albert rasped a harsh growl. He raised one fist as if to slam it into the screen, but after a tense pause, during which Chris would almost hear him arguing with himself, he relaxed with a visible effort and turned away.

After that, their progress was quick. Albert set a grueling pace deeper into the base, where they encountered yet more majini, but they bulled through the resistance. On the way up an elevator, suddenly their earpieces started picking up a rogue transmission.

"_Uroboros has been loaded."_ It sounded like Excella's voice. The next voice was too garbled for Chris to understand, but every muscle in Albert's body tensed up at the sound. A silent snarl curled his lips back, and Chris surmised it was Nathan's voice. _"Don't worry. I'm handling it, Nathan."_ Chris took a wary step back when, at the mention of the name, a stunted growl bubbled up from Albert's chest. He looked at his friend in alarm; there was still sense in the tyrant's eyes, but it was almost buried under a layer of rage and hatred that made his eyes burn bloodred.

Albert was hard pressed not to break into a dead sprint after that. When they encountered blockades of majini wielding AK-47s, Chris hung back and let Albert dash forward to take out the gunners so that they could move on without being shot. Their progress was much faster now that they had the metaphorical bits in their mouths, and they had a definite lead. They both knew for certain that where Nathan was, they would find Jill.

As they moved past a series of incinerators, suddenly a new BOW appeared: it looked like it had once been a cockroach, but now four of its legs ended in scythe-like claws. It approached them and balked, as if confused. Not feeling like waiting for it to strike, Albert dashed up to the creature and smashed its head, and they moved on. Chris looked oddly over his shoulder at the puddle of tar it boiled into, wondering why it had hesitated. But they pressed on into the first real lab they'd encountered since entering the base. The ranks of tanks in the room all held sections of tentacle not unlike the ones Albert harbored.

Albert immediately made for the back of the room, where he heard a rapid, palpitating heartbeat. A man sat tensely in the center of the alcove, head hanging. His skin was marred periodically by ugly, open wounds like sores that glistened with a pus-like yellowy fluid. Albert's nostrils flared at the scent radiating from the man. It was just like the Uroboros creature that had infected him. Then, from a speaker set into the wall, a most unwelcome voice spoke. "Well, so glad you could make it."

Albert immediately honed in on the speaker, then scanned the room to find the observation window Excella stood behind. Chris strode forward. "Where's Jill?"

Excella rolled her eyes. "Jill, Jill, Jill. You're like a broken record, you know that?" She flicked her hand dismissively. "You've spent so long trying to track down Uroboros – well, here. Enjoy." As if on cue, the man whose presence had been largely forgotten stood up, his breath erratic and heavy. He took a few slow steps forward; Albert saw tentacles writhing just underneath his skin, and clenched his fists to fight back a similar reaction in his own body. Tentacles burst from the man's skin and he grunted in pain.

"So Uroboros is a new BOW... and you're gonna sell it to terrorists?" Chris said, weapon and eyes trained on the man before them.

Excella hummed. "Mmh, good guess, but no. Though it does resemble the BOW based on the Progenitor virus, I have no intention of selling it."

"Then what are you using it for?" Chris demanded.

As they spoke, the man's body had become increasingly covered by squirming tentacles. He had lifted his head and was staring straight into Albert's eyes, and the two seemed locked into a silent conversation. Suddenly, the man shuddered. The tentacles retracted, and behind them the man's skin closed over and healed. When the man reopened his eyes, they were almost identical to Albert's. Excella's voice resumed. "Evolution. It's a Philosopher's Stone – one that will choose through DNA who will proceed to the next stage. My vision and his combined, now made a reality." The man strode forward, aggressive now, and completely ignoring the other tyrant.

"Evolution – what are you talking about?" Chris grunted, incredulous.

Excella smirked. "You'll find out soon enough. Everyone will."

Abruptly, the man stopped. He twitched spasmodically and tentacles wriggled again underneath his skin as he groaned and wheezed. "Hmm, too bad. Looks like he wasn't worthy. Only the chosen ones are fit for the coming new world." Excella – and the cloaked entity again, who had been standing nearby in the observation room – walked away, leaving the two BSAA agents to deal with the man whose body was rapidly being overtaken by tentacles.

Albert immediately blurred out of sight and Chris skipped to the side on instinct, barely avoiding the thick column of tentacles that whipped through the space where his head had been moments before. Chris was confused to note that the Uroboros creature continued to ignore Albert and focus on attacking him. That was an immense help in fighting it, since Albert had free reign to do what he pleased and the creature rarely retaliated. With the help of the flamethrower they eventually destroyed the thing. Chris looked warily at Albert once the thing was bubbling away to tar. "What was Excella talking about, anyway?" he asked, half to himself.

It took a few moments for Albert to reply. He had his eyes closed and was breathing deeply, struggling to restrain the tentacles that had been threatening to burst through his skin since the beginning of the encounter. He didn't know why that creature had largely ignored him, since most BOW showed no real acknowledgement for others infected with the same virus. But once he had the spike of adrenaline under control and he wasn't in any threat of losing it, he reopened his eyes and looked at Chris. "She probably meant that Uroboros will kill a large percent of the people it infects, and leave alive a certain minority whose genomes are compatible. That happens with all Progenitor-based viruses; the difference is that the number of survivors for most of these are so low as to approach zero."

Chris snorted. "Well, we're gonna stop it before they can do anything, so it won't matter," he stated. To his surprise, Albert didn't voice any objection to the statement – he'd half expected him to be interested only in rescuing Jill. Then again, Chris knew better than to think Albert was going to leave Nathan alive.

They pressed on again. Chris had to break into a jog to keep up with Albert's long, ground-eating strides. Any majini that stood in their way, he took out almost before Chris could get off any shots from his handgun. Even when a bridge was lifted, barring their path, Albert just bludgeoned his way into the shack that held the controls. The clamor attracted a swarm of Lickers, but they made quick work of those and passed into the next room.

Chris immediately raised his gun, and Albert continued a slow approach toward Excella, who turned to face them. She seemed unfazed by the predatory stalk the tyrant had adopted. "Bravo, gentlemen."

"Dammit, where is Jill?" Chris demanded.

Excella huffed. "Maybe I'll tell you, maybe I won't."

Albert suddenly blurred out of sight as the cloaked figure catapulted off of the balcony, landing right next to Chris. She engaged the marksman, but was swiftly hauled aside when Albert grabbed her. Almost casually, he hefted the woman off the ground by her throat. Her gloved hands scrabbled at his wrists and she gasped and choked. Suddenly, his expression registered shock and incredulity, and he snatched his hand away. The cloaked woman fell harshly to the floor, which made the hood slide off her head. Beneath it, her hair was cornsilk blonde and pulled into a ponytail. Chris' heart leaped into his throat. Albert pulled the beaked plague doctor mask from her face.

He was forced to step back as she suddenly surged to her feet, lashing out with both hands. He blocked the blow and she skipped away from him, positioning herself between the BSAA agents and Excella. Her eyes were the color of clear ice and held no recognition – no emotion whatsoever. Chris' aim wavered – he let his handgun fall and took a hesitant step forward. "Jill..."

"Well, isn't this one big family reunion," Nathan said snidely. He slowly descended one of the curved staircases leading down from the balcony. His wolfish grin widened when he caught sight of the look on Albert's face – he was livid, and his clenched hands were shaking with the effort of controlling himself. Chris saw the blind hatred on his friend's face and took a step to the side, keeping his gun trained on Nathan, though his eyes flickered uncertainly from him to Jill. "Jill. It's us!"

Excella took the opportunity to slink out of the room while all the attention was concentrated elsewhere. No one noticed her exit. Things happened very vast after that – Jill, on some unheard command, launched herself forward – but before she could close the distance between her position and Chris', Albert intercepted her path. He deftly plucked her out of mid-air and flicked her into the ground hard enough to stun her, and then he went for Nathan. The other tyrant had started moving as soon as Albert had, and the two of them were lost to Chris' sight. Before he could even think to wonder where they were, Jill had recovered and was in his face. She was considerably faster and stronger – not a match for either tyrant, but still easily able to dodge every blow Chris threw at her. He immediately put his handgun away – he didn't know if she healed faster now, like them, but the last thing he wanted to do was to kill her. There _had_ to be a way to snap her out of whatever spell she was under – there just _had_ to. He might end up having to put his partner out of her misery, but that was going to be the very last resort.

While Chris had his hands full keeping Jill at bay, the two tyrants were having a savage battle. Even though he had pretty much given himself over to the visceral bloodlust, he retained enough sense to take the fight away from the fragile humans. He bodily threw Nathan across the room and back onto the balcony, and when he leaped up onto that level, Nathan grabbed him and forcefully slammed him head-first into the wall. Staggering as blood gushed from the multiple cracks in his skull, he went flying from the solid kick Nathan landed on his side. He skidded down the corridor, coming around in the process, and flipped back onto his feet.

They brawled back and forth through the rooms on the second level, crashing through some of the pillars that supported the ceiling. No regard was given for anything that stood in the way, for both of them had reverted to animalistic rage. No quarter was taken or given. It was like a battle between juggernauts, though Albert realized quickly that he was at a slight disadvantage. Whenever he inflicted a wound on his enemy that spilled blood, the dark liquid flickered into flame. Nathan's blood was viscous and tacky; once it got onto something, it was nearly impossible to remove. In response to the pain, tentacles burst from Albert's skin – though they were burned away to nothing, they protected his body from the napalm-like blood.

When he first saw this, Nathan skipped back and laughed. "Hah! So Uroboros has found you worthy! I can't say I'm surprised. You always were such a _special_ case."

Albert only growled in response and lashed out with a whiplike column of tentacles – Nathan dodged the attack, but they curled around behind him, snagging one leg. Nathan tripped, and like lightning Albert swarmed the other tyrant with more tentacles until he was unable to move his upper body. He bared his teeth in a vicious snarl and constricted the tentacles. Bones crunched and snapped; from between the tentacles, blood oozed, but he ignored the pain as it caught fire in favor of continuing to crush his enemy.

Soon, Nathan's upper body was reduced to bloody pulp. Albert let the burning tentacles slough off and pulled the rest back into himself, then trotted back through the hall into the main room. In his absence, Jill and Chris had been playing hide-and-seek among the columns and staircases. Albert jumped down from the balcony to land right next to her. She whirled and tried to kick him, but he blocked the blow and sent her spinning to the ground. Chris leaned against the nearest column, relieved that he could get a breather. Albert may have been able to handle her easily enough, but since Chris was trying not to shoot to kill, it was incredibly difficult to keep her at bay. He watched them fight back and forth across the floor, and he noticed something odd. Not that Albert was being purely defensive – deflecting her attacks, occasionally tripping her or otherwise making her back off. He wasn't surprised by that. But he noticed that now, she was attacking with far less ferocity. Some of her moves were sluggish, and several times Albert could cut in and floor her before she could execute a strike because of a moment's hesitation. The fact that they were moving slow enough for Chris to track them was a tell-tale sign that there was something off.

Abruptly, Chris saw a reddish blur. Jill performed a backflip away from the impact, which landed squarely on Albert. Nathan had recovered and resumed his attack. He stood with a wicked grin as Albert flopped to the ground, his skull in bloodied fragments from the punishing blow to the back of his head.

"N-no. No!" All eyes snapped to Jill, whose blank mask had fallen, replaced by a look of desperation. She wavered, one hand halfway outstretched.

"Remarkable. Still resisting at such an advanced stage," Nathan commented. "Commendable, but futile." He pulled his PDA from his pocket and typed in a command. Jill shuddered violently and her knees buckled – Chris stepped forward, concerned, as she clutched st her chest, crying out in pain.

"No more time for games. I've got work to do. Have fun watching them suffer," Nathan sneered at Chris. He leaped back onto the balcony and was lost to sight, but Chris' main concern was his comrades. He glanced at Albert, who was already healing; satisfied that the tyrant was going to make it, he turned all his attention to Jill.

She was kneeling on the ground, head hanging and the collar of her battlesuit hanging open, gasping for breath. He saw her shoulders tremble slightly. "Jill, Jill, talk to me. I know you're in there now," he insisted, crouching next to her.

Chris reeled backward when Jill snapped into action, her face blank again, and nearly broke his nose with her swinging fist. They warily circled each other for a moment, and Chris noticed the alien object attached to her chest – it almost glowed, and not in a good way. He knew he had to get it off her.

Suddenly, in his peripheral vision, a black mass rose up and darted into the fray. Albert had fully healed, and now that Nathan was gone, he seemed to have returned to his senses. He tackled Jill to the ground and pinned her there, trapping her arms under his knees. "Hold her legs," he snapped, and Chris obediently trotted forward to bear down on her knees. The tyrant's face was expressionless as he reached down to pry at the thing on her chest. He knew that removing the device could free her from whatever hold Nathan had over her, but it could also be rigged to kill her if it was removed improperly – or at all. Either way, she wouldn't be a slave any more. He pulled his knife out of its sheathe and sliced away the thin, wire-like tubes that were embedded in her body and lifted the red, metal-rimmed device away.

The severed tubes oozed pinkish serum, and Jill continued to struggle and writhe. Chris was hard-pressed to keep her from kicking free of his grasp, though her arms were firmly trapped against the rough stone floor. Slowly, though, her movements slowed, becoming more jerky and erratic. Chris started relaxing his hold. "Stay on your guard," Albert murmured over his shoulder, then looked back at Jill's face, which was scrunched into a grimace. "Jill, we know you're in there. Can you calm yourself down?"

"Give it... a few... minutes..." she grunted, summoning visible effort in order to grate the words out through clenched teeth. She knew that the P30 would wear off soon enough now that the feed was interrupted.

Sure enough, after that she could force her body to stop struggling against their grip. Her muscles still twitched randomly, even as she tried to twist her body to the side. Albert pressed a hand into her shoulder to stop her. "Ugh... just... let me turn..."

Albert glanced back at Chris, who obligingly released Jill's legs. He stood well back from them as Albert pulled back into a crouch, and Jill turned over so that she was on her hands and knees. Serum dripped from the severed tubes still embedded in her chest and she gasped for breath, having exhausted herself fighting off the effects of the P30. She was trembling from a mix of fatigue and relief, and despite the ache in every fiber of her being, she couldn't help but smile slightly. She managed to cough a weak chuckle just out of disbelief. After so long, she was finally free...

When she started toppling sideways, Albert caught her before her shoulder could hit the floor. He turned her over again and held her against his chest. Jill rolled her head so that it was supported on his bicep and pulled her eyes open again to peer wonderingly at Albert's and Chris' concerned faces hovering over her. "Please tell me this isn't a dream," she whispered.

Albert brushed a lock of hair that had escaped the ponytail out of her face. "It's real. We're here, dear heart," he murmured.

"God, I can't tell you how good it is to hear your voices..." Jill breathed. "Please, forgive me. I couldn't control my actions, but I was still aware. I'm so sorry..."

Chris knelt next to them and took Jill's hand. "It's all right, Jill. We understand."

She let her eyes slide closed again and the ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. She just let her freedom soak in for a moment and rested; she knew that this moment wasn't to last long. There was too much left to do. As much as she wanted to just forget everything else and never let Chris or Albert out of her sight again, she knew there was too much at stake to sit around.

So she reached up to take Albert's shoulder, making as if to stand up. He noticed this and helped her stand, keeping his arms around her waist as a precaution. She didn't have the heart to move, and the smile widened faintly. She kept one hand on his shoulder, though Chris had releasede her hand so that she could get up. Jill opened her eyes again and looked from Albert to Chris. "I'll be all right now. You two _have_ to go after Nathan."

"We didn't come all this way to just leave you here," Albert said, his voice almost a growl at the very thought.

"There's no other option, Albert. If you don't stop him, he'll spread Uroboros all over the planet. Millions will die!" She looked to Chris, whose expression was equally belligerent. "You have to believe me on this. I know you want him dead as much as I do," she added, looking toward Albert again. The tyrant's eyes hardened, and from the way the gold in his irises retreated, she knew she'd hit a nerve.

"But Jill–" Chris started.

"_I'll be fine_," she insisted.

"How can we be so sure?" Albert demanded.

She sighed slightly. "As long as I act like I'm still under the influence of this stuff –" she indicated the red oval on her chest where the device had been seated – "I can go wherever I want. I won't get anywhere if I'm with you, but on my own I can help you. I can't get near Nathan again... I might revert back even without the serum." They could see by the glint in her eyes that, even without that concern, she just needed to get away from Nathan. And neither of them wanted him near her.

"Are you _sure_ you'll be all right? Just a few moments ago you were about to pass out," Albert asked.

"I'm on an adrenaline high right now, I'll be fine. There's still enough of that stuff in my system to keep me going, even if it's not enough to subvert my will." While Nathan had been experimenting with P30's short-term effects on her, earlier in her captivity, she had been learning just as much about how it affected her. She knew that the physical enhancements took longer to wax and wane than did the mind-warping, especially since she was almost always fighting the control.

Both of them were still giving her skeptical looks. She stubbornly pushed on Albert's chest, catching him by surprise and making his step back. "You don't have much more time. He's about to board the ship, and if you miss it, you'll have no chance at stopping him. I'll stay here and try to get backup for you."

Reluctantly, Albert nodded. "All right. I'll hold you to your word, Jill."

The smile reappeared on her face. "Don't you trust your partner?"

They trotted up the stairs and stepped into the same elevator Nathan had used. Their eyes were on Jill until the doors closed on them – they watched her readjust her battlesuit to hide the fact that she no longer had the device attached to her, then turn and jog out of the room.

After that, they both moved at a jog, eager to catch up to Nathan and end it once and for all. It wasn't far until they emerged onto a staircase on the side of a steep cliff facing a dock, at which was anchored the massive tanker Jill had mentioned. They immediately noticed Nathan and Excella strolling side-by-side aboard the ship. Albert fought back the snarl that bubbled up from his chest.

As the final preparations for launching the ship were taking place, the two BSAA agents slipped aboards the ship and stowed themselves away until the big vessel was underway and the activity on deck had died down somewhat. Then, they worked their way across the top deck and several floors in the lower decks, then out again onto the main deck. The first thing they encountered was a massive pile of dead majini – the bodies were stacked over ten feet high, and the smells of death and blood coming from the mass only added a new edge of agitation to Albert's already excited system.

He heard a rapid, erratic heartbeat and heard footsteps, even before Excella's agonized cries registered in Chris' mind. The marksman trained his gun on her head. "Excella! What's going on?" he barked.

"Why... when I've done so much, all for you," she groaned, clutching at her abdomen. She was nearly doubled over in pain and weaving, unable to keep her shuddering body still.

"Ah, so nice of you to join us," came Nathan's voice over the PA system. "Don't worry – your mission is at its end. Uroboros is on the eave of its appearance."

"Not on our watch!" Chris bellowed, spinning in place to search for the source of the voice. Albert knew Nathan was nowhere near them, and so he didn't bother to even reply. The entirety of his attention was focused on Excella.

"Nathan, you said we'd change this world together! Why?" she cried, sounding almost pitiable.

"Soon, even you will understand. One glimpse of my new world, and it will all make perfect sense. Unfortunately, it's too late for you. Neither of you will live to see the dawn." He paused, as if for dramatic effect. "Sorry, Excella. It seems Uroboros has rejected you. You have been an excellent asset – I have one last task for you. Farewell, my friend." Nathan's voice sounded almost regretful, even as Excella's screams were cut off by a final gurgle as tentacles burst up from her throat and punctured through her skin, quickly covering her whole body.

Albert's fists clenched and Chris backed up toward the tyrant warily as the tentacles slithered away from Excella's body, sensing the dead matter nearby. The seeking tendrils found some of the bodies scattered around and coiled around them, sliding inside and pulling the cadavers toward the main mass. Albert shoved Chris aside and they took off running, even as the creature spawned from Excella's remains grew to massive proportions from the matter provided for it. It splattered the deck with some of the slimy, blackish fluid that covered the tentacles; Chris' skin crawled when he felt drops of the liquid land on him. It was warm, unnaturally so, and he felt like it was acid about to sear a hole in his clothing and skin.

Suddenly, Albert reached back to grab Chris by the collar, and the marksman was hauled off his feet and pulled along as Albert went into a sprint to escape the massive mass of tentacles that was snaking after them and flailing about the deck. Chris nearly blacked out from the sudden g-forces that were inflicted on him, and though the dash only lasted a few seconds, when he was finally set back on his feet, he turned to the side and retched. "Sorry, Chris, but I had to get us away from that thing quickly," Albert explained.

Chris waved one hand. "It's okay. Just warn me next time," he panted, leaning against the desk and staring at the ceiling to help his stomach settle and the room to stop spinning. He staggered when a thunderous crash sounded nearby and the main deck gave a shudder. "Shit. Sounds like that thing's tearing the ship apart..."

"Oh, it is. Nathan's banking on getting away before it does, or us killing it. I'm sure he has some sort of aircraft he's going to launch from this ship, from which he can deploy Uroboros." Albert waited with no little impatience for Chris to recover, and then they wove through the forward end of the tanker until they found the bridge. Just outside of that was the perfect vantage point from which to fight the towering monstrosity that had once been Excella.

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**Lalala cliffhanger. Things got pretty exciting and they will continue to be exciting – that's pretty much how RE5 goes. There isn't much that's terribly difficult (besides Ndesu) until you get to chapter 5 and the big Jill/Wesker fight. Then shit starts getting real for the next two chapters and then we get to the biggest fuckup Capcom has ever made. However, this ending will be different, in a way. I'm sure you can predict generally what the outcome will be, but I hope what I throw in will surprise at least some of you. And then there will be several chapters after we're done with Africa, so remember to stay tuned.**


	21. Endings

**Wow, guys, I realized there were a bunch of typos in the latter part of the last chapter that I completely missed. Sorry about that! I don't feel like going back to fix them, so I'll just apologize again here and we can move on with life. Open Office's spellchecker isn't as finnicky as Word 2007's, and I have yet to get used to that. Anyway.**

**We've gotten toward the end of the story that runs parallel to RE5. From here we will go onward and beyond for much more fluffliness. But after the final bitch of a boss fight and much ensuing chaos. I don't particularly like the Excella fight just because it's a bunch of bullshit and dickery most heinous and foul – and how the fuck are you supposed to kill a giant tentacle monster the size of a building anyway. My favorite part of ch 6 is the second part of the boss fight – the interactive cutscene. The death scenes are fantastic, and worth missing the cues just to see. Especially the one where Wesker twists Chris' head off. -manic grin-**

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As they stood outside the bridge, observing the mountainous creature that had become of Excella, Albert's PDA beeped. Since the flailing columns of tentacles the width of a tree trunk were completely avoiding him – something that still baffled them both – he paused to read the incoming message. He knew it was from Jill and it had to be important. The brief, clipped sentences explained about a satellite-based weapon which was probably their greatest chance of destroying the massive Uroboros creation below. Smirking, Albert sent back an affirmative and used the bridge keycard he'd lifted off one of the majini to gain access to the weapon; it looked somewhat like a railgun, but when he aimed it into the car-sized weak-point that bloomed when Chris managed to pump enough bullets into the thing, a high-intensity beam lanced down, blinding them both and making sure that Albert wouldn't be able to see for several minutes.

The beam, whose heat they both had felt at such a close range, shriveled the weak-point to nothing. Tentacles began to shed away from it, flopping limply to the ground and withering away. The remaining tentacles slowed and eventually froze altogether as the viral flesh died. Once the two BSAA agents had regained their sight, they went back into the bridge, knowing they could pinpoint Nathan's location there. Chris went straight to one of the computer consoles, while Albert stepped aside to receive a call on his PDA. Jill's face appeared on the screen.

"How are you faring?" he asked, noticing that she was once more panting for breath.

_"I'm fine. I managed to radio HQ, and they're sending a helicopter your way. Ground reinforcements already made it through the caves, so I'm going to meet up with them and rendezvous with the chopper at the dock. Did the satellite work?"_

"Fantastically. Thank you, dear heart."

She smiled wryly. _"It's still technically in the experimental stages. Glad to see it works, though."_

Chris, who was eavesdropping, snorted. "Great!"

Albert glanced at the marksman before returning his gaze to the PDA screen. "Before we go, is there anything we should know about Nathan – any instability in his virus?"

Jill sighed._ "I guess you already figured out that his virus is related to T-Veronica, though that was all I managed to ascertain. He also has a Plaga – a master Plaga. I think it's the 'sample' Ada stole in Spain... it's the only explanation I can come up with. When you confront him, I'm sure he'll activate the parasite. The good news is that the combination he already has of the Veronica-like agent and the Plaga isn't compatible with Uroboros, so he can't infect himself with that as well."_

A dark smirk immediately spread across Albert's face. "Is that so?"

_"That's all the information I have. I wasn't kept very well informed,"_ Jill said, sounding chagrined.

"Don't worry, Jill, what you just gave us is more than enough to work with. I assume you can track the tanker's progress?" Albert replied.

_"Yes. I'll be able to until Nathan launches the bomber, then I'll lose the signal. You guys need to locate the hangar if you haven't already – that's where he'll be with the Uroboros missiles. I can't be sure if he's moved the launch time, but the original plan was for him to take off in about fifteen minutes."_

"I found the place," Chris interjected, indicating the computer console. He had pulled up the feed from surveillance cameras and found Nathan in the hangar. "We'll get there in three minutes tops."

Jill nodded firmly. _"Then go. I'll tag along in the chopper and be there as soon as I can. Good luck."_

"And you, my dear." Albert tucked the PDA back into his pocket, looked to Chris, and they set off. As Chris had predicted, it was mere minutes until they stormed into the hangar, Chris with his gun aimed at Nathan's back.

Nathan sighed dramatically. "You know, I was going to let you go," he said, off-handed and casual, as if he were speaking to old friends. "Since Uroboros has clearly accepted you, Wesker, I was willing to let you live. I doubt Redfield would survive exposure, but at least he would have had a chance to be judged before his death. Now, though, I'm pissed." His fists were tense around the rail, causing the metal to implode with a creak. Albert saw the other tyrant tremble slightly, and a wolfish smirk began to form on his face. "You took my servant from me, you've made a mess of my base and my ship, and you forced me to prematurely dispose of my most useful ally. Give me one reason why I should let you walk away."

"You're struggling to stand as it is, Nathaniel," Albert chuckled. "I can sense it. During our little spat earlier, you contracted Uroboros. Perhaps not enough to do much more than weaken you, but your body is exhausted from fighting it off. Las Plagas and Uroboros don't mix well, do they? It seems to coexist well with other Progenitor-based viruses, but Las Plagas must not be compatible hosts for it."

A weird rumble somewhere between a laugh and a growl bubbled up from Nathan's chest. "Never could make it play nicely with Las Plagas. If not for this king Plaga I have, that would have worked well for me in the long run. Ah well – you win some, you lose some."

Albert prowled forward. Nathan didn't move until there were only inches separating them, and then he whirled around fast enough to be a mere blur to Chris' eyes. Both tyrants were then lost to sight, and Chris cursed under his breath. A thunderous crash sounded below, where Albert had thrown his enemy into the floor, leaving a massive dent in the diamond-patterned metal. Chris slid down the ladder as quickly as he could, listening to the sounds of the fighting titans, since he could barely see them. Only two dark blurs – on occasion, he would see little snapshots like photographs when they would momentarily lapse into human speed. And while Nathan was otherwise occupied, Chris took the opportunity to climb into the bomber and do a little investigating. He knew if he stayed out there he would only get in the way.

Chris found the cockpit and went up to the long console that controlled the bomber. He scanned the controls – luckily, he was familiar with this type of assault bomber. The first thing he noticed was that the bomber's controls were fully automated, and when he tried to tamper with them, they locked him out. Chris spat a curse and tried getting past the block, to no avail. He could only stand by as the computer ran through pre-takeoff diagnostics and prepped itself for launch. Cursing under his breath once more, he turned away and headed to a different part of the jet, to where he hoped to find the missiles. He wasn't sure how much he could do to sabotage them without risking getting caught in the aftermath, but he couldn't just sit by and do nothing.

"_Chris, where are you?"_ Albert barked in his earpiece.

"I'm heading for the rear cargo bay of the bomber... damn computers in the cockpit are locking me out of everywhere else."

"_Once you get there, stay put and try not to let Nathan kill you."_

"What?" But the transmission had cut off. Chris could feel the jet shuddering as the platform on which it rested rose up to the top deck of the tanker. The engines rumbled to life, and Chris swore under his breath. He picked up his pace to a fast jog, but when he got to the last door at the end of the hall that wasn't locked, he hesitated. Putting his ear to the metal, he listened hard, and discerned the sounds of two people on the other side, talking. Chris took a deep breath, readied his gun, and flung the door open. He first saw Albert standing lower down in the cargo hold, Uroboros tentacles coiled around his arms and eyes alight. Then he saw a blur in his peripheral vision and instinctively ducked, diving forward and rolling out of the path of Nathan's fist.

The older tyrant, whose eyes also had an edge of red Chris hadn't noticed before, stood next to the door from which Chris had just emerged. His face was twisted into a wrathful sneer, baring sharpened teeth. He was still trembling from fatigue, and his chest was heaving to suck in great gasps of air. Comparatively, Albert was composed, breathing lightly and unharmed. Nathan leaned against the wall, glaring at the two BSAA agents. Most of his attention, however, was focused on the other tyrant. He was the threat, not some petty human. "I guess I underestimated you. Didn't expect Uroboros to bond with you so quickly, or else this would have been easy. That was my mistake. Still, this isn't over. I'll see both of you dead."

"Save it, Nathan. You're the one who's going down!" Chris growled.

Nathan cracked a wolfish, slightly crazed grin and laughed. "I'd like to see you try, Redfield." Suddenly, he blurred out of sight. Albert shoved Chris to the side and dashed forward to meet Nathan's assault, lashing out with tentacles to wrap around the older tyrant's body. Nathan was expecting it this time, and avoided the whiplike tentacles. Chris slunk along the wall while Nathan was distracted and made it to the override lever. He had his hand on it, but he hesitated, straining his eyes to try to locate his friend. For a split second, Albert paused, and Chris barely caught the gestured signal before he blurred back into viral speed.

Chris hit the lever and ran for one of the I-beams along the wall, narrowly avoiding Nathan, who had launched himself from the far wall at the marksman. But Nathan was too late to stop the override, and since he was already off-balance, he went tumbling to the floor when the hatch parted. The whole room was turned into a vacuum; wind roared in their ears, and around them, the jet shuddered and dipped from the unexpected change in pressurization. Chris had latched onto tan I-beam for dear life, and he watched Nathan slide across the floor of the cargo bay, scrabbling at the smooth metal for purchase.

A thick column of tentacles slammed into Nathan, and with a scream he was pulled out of the plane. Chris snapped his head up to see Albert with tentacles firmly coiled around one of the I-beams across the room. The tentacles that had lashed Nathan slithered across the open space and wrapped around Chris' upper body, delicately plucking the marksman from the beam and pulling him over to Albert. Even though the slick tendrils made his skin crawl, he was glad to be anchored down.

Moments later, the bomber, whose autopilot had gone haywire somehow – probably Nathan's doing – collided with a solid rock wall. One wing snapped off and the jet skimmed across the ground, grinding to a halt when its nose was buried into another rocky face. Heat and a noxious miasma of gases billowed into the open cargo bay, slapping them both like a brick wall. Albert shielded his face and Chris went into a fit of hacking coughs that had him doubling over and gasping for air. He barely even reacted when Albert picked him up and carried him out of the jet, onto the shelf of rock that overlooked the magma pool. With the amount of toxic gases rising into the jet, they would have asphyxiated in minutes.

Chris went to lean against an upthrust slab of rock; he was already sweating from the overwhelming heat radiating from the magma, and coupled with the hostile mix of gases in the air, he was already reduced to wheezing like a landed fish. Albert looked better off, but even his body couldn't handle too much exposure to the miasma in the heart of an active volcano. He retracted most of the Uroboros tentacles back into himself and watched his human comrade closely. "Is your radio still working? I lost mine."

Chris raised a hand to his earpiece. "HQ, this is Chris. Can you read me? Repeat: This is Chris. Can you read me?" There was only static in reply, so he tried another frequency. "Jill, can you read me? Jill, come in!"

A long pause ensued, and Chris was about to give up, when suddenly the other end of the line crackled into life, transmitting Jill's voice. _"I hear you, Chris. Where are you? We found the tanker, but the bomber is gone."_

Chris' knees nearly gave out in relief that the transmission went through. "I don't know our exact coordinates, but the jet crashed into a volcano. We need a way out of this thing ASAP."

"_The volcano?"_ Jill repeated incredulously. _"All right, we'll head that way. Just hang on!"_

Chris sighed in relief and looked over to Albert, but the tyrant's expression had suddenly transformed again into a snarl. Tentacles slid once more out of his skin and he whirled around to face the sounds of another being scrabbling on the rocks nearby. Somehow, Nathan was still alive. There were patches of dark chitin covering his body, some of them shattered and melted. He pulled himself upright, though his body swayed dangerously, and glared at the two BSAA agents. "This ends _now,_" he snarled.

Chris jerked upright, watching in fascinated horror; Nathan's body was ripped apart from the inside, and small gouts of flame leaped from the blood on the surfaces of the new limbs. Albert simply stood by, letting Nathan finish the activation of his Plaga. Chris gave him a confused look, but Albert knew what he was doing. He knew that Nathan was desperate if he was allowing the Plaga in his body to take over; he had sustained enough damage to tax even a tyrant's endurance, even without the exposure to Uroboros that Albert had inflicted upon him. And since Las Plagas was a species that were not suitable hosts for Uroboros, Nathan was now at an even worse disadvantage. He might have gotten a boost of power, and thanks to the Veronica-like virus he may have had much more resistance to the oppressive heat in the volcano, but he was on his last legs and both of them knew it. He had given up all plans to release Uroboros, and now he was just trying to take his enemy with him when he died.

Within moments, Nathan was barely recognizable. The Plaga was a monstrous thing, towering over twice Chris' height. It looked like the unholy mating of a spider, tick and a crab, with a scorpion tail as long as the main body was tall. Its carapace was thickened with the same blackish chitin, and at the fleshier heart of the thing was what what was left of Nathan. The tail, with a hooked spike at the end, curled up and over its body menacingly. Chris dove to the side as the barb flashed down, crushing the boulder on which he had just been leaning. A few Uroboros tentacles suddenly grabbed the marksman by the waist and hoisted him up, depositing Chris on one of the jet's shattered wings. No matter how much he wanted to help, this was no place for a human. Knowing that he'd been relegated to lookout rankled him, but at the same time, he knew he wouldn't last a second if he got caught in the crossfire.

The barbed end of the Plaga's tail descended once more, only to bury itself in a mass of tentacles that merely absorbed the blow. Albert allowed the hulking Plaga to lift him up by the column of tentacles that he'd let coil around his arm, ignoring the acidic burn of T-Veronica blood seeping into the tentacles from the hollow, needle-like barb. He lashed out with his free arm and slammed a mass of Uroboros into the center of the Plaga, swarming the small space not covered by six-inch-thick armor with tentacles. The Plaga gave a bubbly shriek and staggered backward, shaking violently from side to side as if to dislodge the tentacles.

The Plaga pushed its tail harder into Albert's arm, though it was still only piercing through tentacles. Suddenly, it flicked its tail out straight, pulling Albert away from its weak-point. He was catapulted up and out, only to fall into the bubbling magma; he took the Plaga with him, though, having embedded Uroboros into the weak-point – the tentacles had worked their way into the exposed flesh and under the armor. The Plaga shrieked again in protest when it was pulled into the magma, though its shell was heat-resistant and the magma only slid off the chitinous surface. One segmented leg raised out of the magma and stabbed down toward Albert, pushing him completely underneath the surface of the fiery lake.

Chris had found a way to clamber down off the wing of the plane as soon as he saw the two battling titans leave the rock shelf and go into the lava. Widened eyes took in the Plaga's last moments as Uroboros tentacles started bursting through its shell. The virus was reacting to the parasite like it had to any other unsuitable human subject – instead of bonding docilely, it devoured its host. Pieces of armor were pushed off into the magma, leaving pulsating, angry wounds behind that leaked oil and smoldering blood. Within moments, the Plaga had been completely overtaken by tentacles, which in their turn were incinerated to nothing by the heat of the magma.

Chris ran up to the edge of the rock shelf, desperately scanning the molten lake to find Albert. He remembered how vulnerable Uroboros was to heat and fire, and for several agonizing minutes, he was sure that Nathan really had taken his enemy with him in death. _"Chris, come in. Can you see the helicopter? We can't get in very close right now because of the updrafts, but as soon as we can we'll drop in to lift you out."_ Jill's voice through his earpiece made a lump of dread sour in his gut. If Albert really was dead, how could he tell Jill?

Still, he raised his eyes, and true to her word, he saw a helicopter hovering overhead. The image was hazy from the heat waved billowing up from the magma, but he saw the glint of gray against the mottled blue sky. "Roger, I see you. Be careful!"

"_Where are you two? From this height we can't see a thing."_

"I'm on the edge of the lava, standing on a rock shelf," he replied, then hesitated. The last thing Jill needed right now was to hear that Albert was gone, but lying would be worse. "And, I don't know where Albert is. I lost sight of him. Nathan is gone too – he's dead."

There was a pause at the other end of the transmission. _"We'll get close enough to lift you out, and then we'll look for him. Do you have any idea where he could be? Another ledge he could've landed on?"_

"Nathan dragged him into the lava... he hasn't come up yet." Chris closed his eyes, hating that he had to tell her exactly what she didn't want to hear.

An even longer pause. Chris was afraid the transmission had been cut off, but then Jill spoke up again. Her voice was rough. _"We'll look for him."_

The helicopter began slowly easing its way down below the rim of the volcano. In the meantime, Chris gingerly trotted closer to where he predicted the ladder was going to drop; gingerly, because the ledge on which he stood was slowly crumbling into the lava.

Movement in his peripheral vision stopped him dead. He turned to look at the movement that had alerted him, and his heart leaped into his throat when he saw Albert hauling himself laboriously onto a spur of rock. Burnt tentacles were sloughing off, but others were emerging and wrapping protectively around his body, shielding the half-healed flesh from further exposure to the magma.

The ladder that Jill dropped nearly brained him, so hard was he concentrating on watching the tyrant pull himself out. Chris grabbed the rungs and started climbing; by the time he got to the top and Jill helped pull him into the chopper, Albert had also freed himself completely from the lake of magma. Chris met Jill's eyes. The pale blue seemed to burn with desperation, which was transformed into wild hope when he told her he'd seen Albert. However, that momentary hope drained from her expression when she looked down and saw the swarm of tentacles all over him.

"Oh God... oh no," she breathed, holding a hand to her mouth. She had seen the crumpled missiles and jumped to the conclusion that he'd just now contracted the virus; the way he looked down there was disturbingly similar to the way unsuitable hosts looked shortly after infection. She would know, having been forced to infect quite a few people with the virus over the course of her captivity. She swallowed back the nausea that rose up at the realization.

Chris glanced sidelong at her, a grimace pulling at the corners of his mouth, before returning his gaze to the tyrant below. The relief that Albert was still alive had been short-lived, since now the question remained, was he still cognizant? He had been barely aware enough to help Chris to safety before the fight began, and since he was still near death, there was a high probability that all sanity and sense had gone right out the window. Especially since those tentacles still weren't retreating back into his body like Chris thought they should be.

Josh, who was in the pilot seat, called back to them over his shoulder. "If we hang around here much longer these air currents will crash us into the side of the volcano!"

Chris and Jill looked up at each other. They were both thinking along the same lines of reluctant acceptance. It didn't look like he was going to be able to make it...

Suddenly, the chopper lurched to the side. Chris and Jill leaned over the edge to see what had happened, and what they saw was a bundle of tentacles wrapped around one of the helicopter's skids, leading all the way down to the rock on which Albert was crouched. The rock was crumbling underneath his feet, and in desperation, he had reached out for something to keep him from falling back into the magma. Josh reacted instinctively to the sudden lurch and pulled the chopper up and out of the volcano.

Another coil of tentacles lashed up like a whip and attached itself to the same skid. Jill and Chris watched the tentacles ripple as Albert pulled them back into himself, reeling his body up toward the helicopter. At first, relief washed through Chris, and he leaned farther over to watch his friend pull himself to safety. Then he got a good look at the tyrant, and all the relief soured. Albert's body was covered in open wounds where his viruses ran out of the resources to completely heal the severe burns, and his eyes glowed solid gold. There was no recognition there.

"Chris..." Jill said, choking the words out of a tight throat. She swallowed hard. "That's not Albert. He's gone."

Torn, he looked from Jill back to the tyrant. At length, he replied. "You're right." It pained him to say it, but it was true.

Jill was remarkably composed as she drew a gun from the holster of her battlesuit. "The best thing we can do for him now is to put him out of his misery."

Chris looked at her, shock on his face. She was right, but how could she say that so calmly, after all they'd been through in the past day? She smiled sadly at him. "He'd do the same for us." Chris nodded and drew his own handgun.

Finally, the pain was gone. Albert knew that it was only a huge spike of adrenaline that was keeping him from feeling the myriad of wounds on his body, but at least he was out of the magma. He continued pulling himself up to the helicopter, buffeted by the wind. His progress was painfully slow – he was just so _tired_. He hadn't felt this battered since contracting Arklay, and he didn't like feeling weak. At least there would be no more fighting and no more pain for a while –

He cried out when suddenly bullets began stinging him. He felt only shock, at first, then a sense of betrayal. Why were they shooting him? He didn't have the energy to be angry anymore, only dismayed. Why were they turning against him? The bullets hurt more than they should, and the puncture wounds didn't close up. They just oozed blood until his body ran out of ways to clot it. He had lost so much blood...

And still they stung him! Why? He had stopped pulling himself up and was just hanging there, a few meters below the helicopter, clinging for dear life to the skids. He ducked his head and tried to call up Uroboros to shield him, but he was so spent from dragging himself out of the magma that he could barely maintain the the tentacles he had. The rest had retreated back into his body or sloughed off. One bullet barely missed his head, and he flinched away. "Stop!" he called, voice hoarse with fatigue. "Stop!" They could barely hear him over the roar of the helicopter's blades.

Jill did. She jerked back, practically dropping her gun, and put a hand out to stop Chris. He paused and gave her a confused look, but she was leaning over the edge of the floor, staring wide-eyed at the tyrant below. "Albert!"

They had heard him... they had stopped. Albert took a moment to catch his breath. His whole body was shaking from fatigue, and all he wanted to do was to pass out. His body was healing at a dismayingly slow rate; hell, it had _just_ managed to manufacture enough clotting agent to stop him from bleeding. His eyes slid open once more – now the gold had retreated back to its usual boundaries, and the hot infrareds that always invaded his irises when he was agitated had gone away, leaving his eyes the same as always. His body was just too worn out to support the same level of agitation. And by now, all the adrenaline was gone, allowing him to finally start to feel the numerous wounds all over his body. He was struggling to keep his grasp on the helicopter's skids.

Then, from above, Jill called down to him. He resumed pulling himself closer to the chopper, reassured now that they weren't going to attack him anymore. As he drew closer and let some of the tentacles go, he felt Jill's hands reach down to grab them before they could slip free. Chris grabbed them as well, and with their help, he finally hauled his exhausted body into the helicopter.

He looked bad. Jill went for the emergency first-aid kit and started cleaning his wounds. He just stayed where he was, sprawled out on the floor – he didn't have the energy to move. Now that he was safe and no longer dangling several hundred feet off the ground, all the adrenaline was gone. The little reserves he had left were devoted to healing himself.

"Talk to me, Albert. Don't drift off, please," Jill said – almost begged. "Stay with me."

"I'm here, I'm here," he muttered. "Just tired."

"I know you're tired, but you can't go to sleep now. Just keep talking."

He coughed a weak chuckle. "Jill, if I don't rest I _am_ going to die. I'll be fine."

"Says the man who just crawled out of lava," Jill retorted. Her voice was shaky, but she forced herself to stay calm. "Humor me just this once. If only for my sanity, I need to reassure myself that you're still alive."

Slowly, he lifted one hand and rested it against her cheek. "After all the effort I put into getting out of there, I'm not about to let myself die."

Tears stung Jill's eyes, and she curled her fingers around his hand. "Good. If you do, I'll never forgive you."

He smiled slightly and closed his eyes. His hand started to slip out of her grasp. Panicking, Jill pressed her fingers to the side of his throat, and let out a huge sigh when she felt his heart beating normally. He had only passed out. Jill was shivering from the emotional roller-coaster; all she wanted to do was to go to sleep herself, but she was too worried about Albert to let herself rest.

The rest of the helicopter ride back to civilization was touch-and-go. Chris and Jill took turns monitoring Albert's condition as best they could. He stayed unconscious for the majority of it, though by the time they reached land again, he came to. Josh found a spare uniform for him since his clothing had been burnt off in the volcano, and they found several MRE tins in the helicopter. The first one took a while to eat since he was so weak, but as soon as the food hit his digestive system, he immediately looked better, and promptly inhaled the rest of the MREs. They then met up with another dispatch of BSAA and hitched a ride to the nearest airfield, where a small jet was waiting to return to the West African headquarters.

They all three collapsed into the seats, weary and ready to be back home. Jill and Chris were keeping a wary eye on Albert, who was still moving very gingerly. He sat in the aisle seat next to Jill, and Chris took up the row behind of them so that he could take a nap. Jill leaned her head against Albert's shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off with a wry chuckle. "Before you ask, Jill, I'm holding up fine."

She squeezed his hand on the armrest. "I can't help that I'm worried about you, Albert. I don't want to lose you again."

He turned to bury his face in her hair, inhaling her scent. It was subtly different, now, than it had been before, but the change was minuscule. He didn't mind – he was just glad to have her there again. "You won't. I'll be fine."

"You say that, but I saw what you looked like in the volcano –"

"That is under control, dear heart. We told you about that and it hasn't given me problems yet. By the time we get back to the States I'll be fully recovered."

Jill she knew he was telling the truth, and she knew why. As soon as they got to the base, they would all be stuck into a quarantine to make sure they didn't have any infectious agent that they could spread. He'd have plenty of time to get back up to speed while the West African researchers studied the samples of his blood and pondered over Uroboros.

They took off, and for the first part of the flight, Albert had to endure the changing pressurization in the cabin – something his already strained body didn't take well. They didn't have any safsprin aboard the jet to ward off the building migraine, and either way, if he tried to swallow anything, he knew the nausea would bring it right back up. Once they got to cruising altitude and the pressure in the cabin stopped fluctuating, he breathed a sigh of relief and sat back from where he had been hunched over, head in his hands. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Chris was already asleep. He and Jill weren't far behind; they were all exhausted. Silence fell as the other two followed Chris' example and dozed off.

Some time later – he couldn't say how long exactly – Albert woke up. He had been feeling the symptoms of a low-grade fever since returning to consciousness, but now they were increasing dramatically, to the point that he could no longer hide it. It was becoming increasingly clear that there was something in his body that did not belong there, and the viruses were stridently rejecting the intruder. He was fairly certain that at some point during his fight with Nathan, he had come into uncomfortably close contact with Nathan's blood, and the Veronica-like agent had managed to infiltrate his body. It wouldn't have been surprising, since he had been directing all his energy into killing Nathan and then escaping the volcano, which left nothing for his immune system. The alien virus had gotten a chance to entrench itself, and now that Albert's immune system was working again, it had recognized the threat and was working to evict it. But the intruder was putting up quite a fight.

Jill was deeply asleep, so she didn't notice when Albert gingerly slid out from under her head and walked down the aisle. Chris, however, was awake enough to notice. He got up and followed Albert to the tiny bathroom stall, and winced when he heard violent retching. The marksman leaned against the wall and waited for Albert to finish and catch his breath.

Oily tar from dead Uroboros cells, bile, and blood. It was a pungent combination, especially when it just came up from your stomach. Albert wiped his mouth and leaned back, slumping against the wall of the tiny cubicle. Sweat beaded on his brow and he panted for breath; his whole body was aching in protest to the sudden invasion. His vision swam and blurred, and even the dim light reflected off the mirror was painful to his eyes. The muffled roar of the plane engines was deafening. He flinched away from the door with a groan when Chris knocked. "Hey, are you all right?"

"No," he replied curtly. "I'm not all right. I think Nathan's virus got into my bloodstream."

_Shit._ Chris looked back over his shoulder to reassure himself that Jill was still asleep, then he turned back to the locked bathroom door. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Not until we get back to HQ."

Chris bit his lip. Albert sounded like he was in bad shape. "Are you gonna make it that long?"

Albert sighed heavily. "Maybe. Depends on how much longer until we arrive."

Chris trotted off to the cockpit and spoke to the pilot. It would be nearly an hour – forty-five, maybe thirty minutes if they hurried. Chris assured him that hurrying would be the best thing to do, and left the man to fly the plane. As he made his way back through the cabin, Jill, who had woken up, stood from her seat. She saw the look on his face and was immediately concerned. "What happened?"

Should he tell a white lie and keep her calm, or tell her the truth? He couldn't know for sure how badly off Albert was, since the tyrant had a habit of making his condition seem less severe than it actually was. Resisting the urge to shoot the bathroom a worried glance, he faced Jill. "I was just telling the pilot to step on it. Albert's condition took a turn, and we need to get back to HQ as fast as possible."

Jill's knuckles turned white from the grip she had oh the arm of the seat. "How is he?"

"I don't know," Chris replied honestly. "He locked himself in the bathroom."

Jill led the way back to the bathroom. She crouched against the door, pushing on it as if to get past the barrier. "Albert. Are you going to be okay?"

There was a moment's pause that unnerved both humans. "Did Chris find out how long until we land?" Albert asked at length. His voice sounded raspy and hoarse, and if they listened hard enough, they could hear his labored breathing.

"Forty-five minutes. Half an hour if he pushes it," Chris said.

Albert exhaled heavily. "Then I hope he pushes it."

Jill bit her lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. "Hold on as long as you can, Albert."

"I am, dear heart. You go sit back down."

She snorted. "I'm staying with you." There was no way in hell she was going to go back to her seat like nothing was wrong. Not when he sounded this bad.

"Jill, there's no point in hanging around. It will just upset you further. This isn't pretty," he urged, almost growling. The last thing he needed was an argument right now.

"And that's exactly why I'm staying here." Her voice had taken on an edge of stubbornness that the other two recognized, and that was when Albert gave up with a sigh. He was just too tired to argue any more.

Chris hung around for a few more moments, then he left to go make sure the pilot had heeded his warning. Jill remained leaning against the door, and she pulled her knees up against her chest. One hand reached up to absently skim her fingers over the uneven surface on her chest where the P30 applicator had once been. The areas around where the tubes were still embedded in her skin were slightly inflamed, but they had been like that since she'd first gotten the thing surgically implanted in her body. She let her head rest against the door and sighed. "Tell me the truth, Albert – how likely is it that you'll make it?" He owed her a straight answer, after all.

The tyrant forcefully pulled himself from teetering on the edge of consciousness. "To be honest, I'm not sure. Half an hour could be pushing it, if the symptoms persist as they have."

Jill swallowed and clenched her fists hard enough that her fingernails penetrated her skin and drew blood. "What exactly is wrong? Is it Uroboros?"

"No," he sighed. "Uroboros would have killed me when I first got it if it was going to at all. I think I was exposed to Nathan's virus. The only reason my body is having such a hard time dealing with this new infection is because of all the damage I took in the volcano, and because my system is still recovering." If he had been in his usual top form, the infection would have been unpleasant, but nowhere near this life-threatening.

Jill unclenched her hands and blankly watched blood ooze from the crescent-shaped marks in her palm. "If you die, Albert..." she almost choked. "I want you to know that the whole time Nathan was holding me captive, I was thinking of you. I constantly prayed that you would know I wasn't dead, and that you would look for me. That hope was the only thing that kept me sane. I missed you so much it was hard to keep going, sometimes. But I had to keep believing that I'd see you again." Her shaky voice trailed off, and she scrubbed tears from her eyes. "You have no idea how it felt to see your face, even before you knew it was me behind that mask. When I saw you in the volcano, I was so afraid that I was going to lose you so soon after getting you back. I don't want that to happen, Albert. I'll go insane."

On the other side of the door, two clear rivulets of tears coursed down his cheeks. The pain in her voice sliced at his heart and made it even more difficult to breathe. There were so many things he wanted – needed – to say, but they all got jumbled up on the tip of his tongue. Eventually, he managed to sort himself out. "I won't let go, Jill. I've been holding on for three years, and I'm not going to let go now. Not of myself and not of you. I refuse to die when I've only just gotten you back. Count on that."

Jill smiled through her own tears, and tilted her head down so that locks of stray blonde hair fell forward. "I will. As long as you hold on, so will I."

* * *

**Nurr cliffhanger again. I've had these last few scenes of post-Nathan's death bouncing around in my head essentially since I decided to write What If to parallel RE5. I know I could do a lot better (especially with the half-assed Excella fight uurgh) but I think you guys get the gist of it, and I can always fix it when I do the rewrite. **

**In the process of writing that last conversation with Albert and Jill, I got The Curse by Disturbed stuck in my head. The refrain is pretty much what's going through Albert's head right now. If you care, feel free to look it up.**

**And now I shall go to bed (as soon as I get this damn moth to stop bugging me). Good morning, all.**


	22. Recovery

**There is a lot of bullshit going on in my life right now, but we still get fluff because I'm trying to distract myself. Refraining from rambling because you peeps don't really give a shit about my personal life, you just want to read the story.**

**Also, several of you have mentioned the ending on your reviews... those of you who are wondering, no worries. For all that I'm an evil sadist to my characters, I am just as much of a sucker for happy endings, especially with characters I've taken a shine to (like Albert). Of course, that won't be for a while. I've got more planned for What If after they get back from Africa.**

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Chris sighed heavily and braced his elbows on the table. He idly stirred his fork around the plate of food in front of him – admittedly, it smelled delicious, but he didn't have much of an appetite. In his peripheral vision he saw someone sit down next to him, and he aimed an absent smile at Sheva.

She gestured to his tray. "You should eat. You've barely touched food since they let you out."

"I'm not that hungry," he replied quietly. "I'm too worried to have an appetite. It's been two weeks, Sheva. Two _weeks_."

Sheva looked at the marksman sympathetically. She'd been part of the reinforcements that Jill summoned, though in the group that secured the underground base. By the time she got back to HQ, Chris had been released from quarantine, since his body held nothing out of the ordinary. Since then, he'd been waiting impatiently for Jill and Albert. He'd gotten periodic updates from the researchers on their respective cases, and for Jill, the news was generally good. Her body had almost entirely metabolized the P30 Nathan had been pumping into her, though because of the constant, extended exposure to it, a trace amount would linger in her body for the rest of her life. According to the researchers, it was a good thing they'd removed the device when they had – much longer with it on, and the effects of P30 would have become permanent. As it was, her hair and eyes would darken with time, but she would probably never return to her original colors. That said nothing about her psychological state, but no one had deluded themselves on that. Not even Jill.

Chris finally gave up on the pretense of eating and dropped his fork. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Sheva started to reach out; she hesitated, not knowing if Chris would accept her sympathy. She didn't know him well, after all, and she had backed out of their mission, which could have lessened his opinion of her. Still, the drawn look on his face compelled her to put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze gently. His only reaction was to sigh and drop his head into his hand. Sheva let her hand fall as Chris shut his eyes. She bit the inside of her lip. For her, it didn't feel right to see Chris like this. He had been a strong, confident presence in the field, and his reputation in the BSAA was of a hero – someone who was never daunted by adversity. To see him with deep, bruised circles around his eyes was wrong, somehow. And she knew that there was little she could do.

In his pocket, Chris' PDA beeped. He retrieved it with his free hand and set it on the table to open the message. Suddenly, as he read the message, he perked up considerably. Chris hastily stood and was out of the cafeteria in moments, leaving Sheva slightly bewildered.

Chris strode briskly into the monitoring room and went up to the researcher who had sent him the message. The man nodded politely. "She will be out momentarily," he said in a thick South African accent. Chris was so used to hearing Swahili and French from the people here that he didn't have much problem understanding. He nodded impatiently and stood by, having to clench his fists to keep from fidgeting.

After several drawn-out minutes, during which Chris had to restrain himself from pacing, the door leading into the gray zone opened, and Jill stepped out. She still looked tired and stressed, like him, but she didn't look like she was liable to collapse at any moment anymore. She noticed Chris as soon as she entered the room and immediately went up to him, throwing her arms around his neck. He returned the hug fiercely.

Still with her face buried in his shoulder, Jill released a ragged sigh. "I'm so glad to see you again, Chris," she murmured.

Chris smiled slightly into her hair. "Me too, Jill. It's been a long time. Are you doing okay?"

Jill pulled back and Chris eased his grip to put her back on her feet. "As well as possible, I guess. Have you gotten any word about Albert?"

Chris glanced at the researcher, who had gone back to the computer console and was ignoring them. "They've been tight-lipped."

Jill bit her lower lip. "They would tell us if he was in critical condition," she said, mostly to reassure herself.

"He's stable, last I heard," Chris quickly added, not wanting Jill to stress herself out. "They sent me a message earlier today, before they let you out, that his vitals have been steady. No change in the last week or so."

Relief eased some of the tension in Jill's shoulders. "I hope that means they'll let him go soon."

Out of the corner of his eye, Chris saw the researcher look over his shoulder at them. He sighed. "Jill, he's in a coma. He's been that way since they got him in here." He swallowed hard at the way Jill squeezed her eyes shut.

It took a moment for Jill to find her voice again. The hand Chris wasn't holding was clenched hard enough to cut the skin. "Do... do they know if he's going to wake up?" she asked, sounding hoarse.

"I don't know. They won't tell me."

At that point, the researcher walked up to them. "Please do not think we are maliciously withholding information," he said slowly. "His case is such a unique one that we cannot make predictions with much hope of accuracy. In order to avoid lying, we can only tell you what we know for sure."

To Chris' surprise, Jill controlled her emotions and was outwardly calm when she addressed the man. "We understand. Thank you for everything, doctor." The researcher nodded politely, and Chris led Jill out of the room. She remained composed until they got to the private quarters Chris had been granted while he was staying at HQ; as soon as she sank onto the couch and Chris closed the door, she dropped the pretense. Chris rushed over to her and pulled Jill into his arms, where she shuddered convulsively. He could tell she was struggling to suppress an even more violent reaction.

"Jill, it's all right. He'll be okay." He gently rocked her back and forth, muttering the same soothing nothings, while inside his heart was breaking. Life had been so cruel to all of them, and yet it was still getting worse. Was it too much to ask that they get a break, for once?

* * *

If this annoying beeping sound didn't stop, he was going to go mad. He'd been hearing the damn thing for time out of mind, and it was grating on his ears. Albert wasn't sure that this was any less unpleasant than the empty limbo he'd been stuck in before. That place had been uncannily similar to the nightmares he still had of the mansion, which meant that at first, the rhythmic beeping had been relieving to hear, since it signaled that he was very much alive. But, since that sound was all he heard for most of the time, it was getting old. Things had gotten to the point that even the faint noises he could hear in the rooms beyond were enough to get his rapt attention, if only to get some input besides that goddamn beeping.

There was more than just the beeping, though. There was the low whir of the ventilation system constantly circulating clean air into the room. Against his closed eyelids, he could sense that the room was dimly lit – to him, at least. To a human it would be quite dark. He hadn't heard anyone come into the room for quite some time; he assumed that they were afraid he was contagious. With what, he couldn't quite put a finger on. Memories from the past week were rather indistinct. He got the vague impression that he had gone on a mission of utmost urgency and that a series of significant events happened, but that was all he could recall. It was incredibly irritating. He didn't know where he was, or why he was there, and that stupid beeping still refused to _stop_.

The worst was that he couldn't make his body obey him. His heart was beating, slowly, and everything was functioning at a baseline level. He could feel needles in his skin providing a constant feed of fluid and nutrients into his body. As much as he wanted to open his eyes, sit up, maybe remove the IVs and electrodes attached to his skin that connected him to the beeping instrument, he couldn't. He couldn't even twitch an eyelid or curl a finger. It was infuriating. He'd been here for an indeterminate length of time and all he could do was lay there and passively listen.

Well, there was at least one thing he could do. His diaphragm had decided to start cooperating with him, so he could consciously control his breathing. He sucked in a deep breath and held it – if for no other reason than he was bored to tears and this was something to do – and listened to the ever-present beeping speed up. A dull burn spread out from his chest, but he continued holding in the breath. When he finally decided to release it, as the air rushed out of his nostrils, it tickled up a dry cough. That flexed muscles in his abdomen that hadn't been used in too long, which brought a soft grunt to his lips. He didn't enjoy feeling like this.

That was when he realized that, in the process of coughing, his muscles had started to unlock again. He could move a little bit – flare his nostrils, part his lips, even clench his fists. And he could open his eyes. Albert slowly peeled his eyelids back – for the first few moments, even the low light in the room was painful, but he forced himself to adjust and keep his eyes open.

That was ruined when suddenly the door, which he hadn't been aware of, slid open, spilling so much light into the room that he snapped his eyes shut with a whimper. Harsh fluorescent lights overhead suddenly came to life, staining the undersides of his eyelids scarlet. He heard two people moving around, and after so long listening to just his own heartbeat and the beeping, just the soft footsteps and more heartbeats was disorienting. His mind couldn't quite process all this new input yet.

One of the people approached him and gently touched his arm. Touch was such an alien sensation now that he flinched away as much as he could, lips parting slightly. His instincts wanted him to bare his teeth and snarl at the invader, but he didn't have the strength. The person still touching his arm spoke up, and the low voice was loud to Albert's ears. "Albert Wesker. Can you hear me? Move your fingers if you can."

Obediently, Albert curled his fingers into a fist. It was difficult and slightly painful, but he was more concerned about regaining movement.

"Good, excellent! Now, do you think you can open your eyes?"

Not with those infernally bright lights. He'd be blinded. Albert forced his tongue to move. "Li... ligh..." Damn, this was more difficult than it should've been. "Lighs. Lights."

The other person stepped closer. "What's he saying?" There was incredulity in the woman's voice, but Albert was still frustrated.

"Lights... Erica, turn off the lights," said the person next to him, urgently. There was a muted click, and the scarlet was gone from his vision. This time it was easier to open his eyes. He blinked experimentally to clear the haze, and looked into the face of the man standing next to him. He heard the man's heart rate jump; the lower part of his face was obscured by a surgical mask, but there was the suggestion of an excited smile. "Remarkable. You're doing very well, Albert. At this rate you'll be up and about in no time flat. Now, you just close your eyes again and rest. I'm going to put something in your hand here – if you ever need to get our attention, push the button there under your finger. We'll be back to check on you later." Albert felt cool plastic slide underneath his hand, and within moments he was once more alone in the room with the beeping ringing in his ears.

Once the door slid shut after them, reducing the light to a tolerable level of dimness, he opened his eyes again, and this time he let them roam. The ceiling held nothing of interest. The wall across from him was the one that held the door; the rest of that wall was largely unadorned besides a rack of Chemituron suits and gas masks next to the door. The wall to his left was a countertop with cabinets below and above. The surface of the counter was clean and organized. To his right, against the far wall, was a fume hood and other contained spaces for handling highly dangerous compounds. If he turned his head he could see the far end of the countertop that wrapped around half the room. He could make out a computer console in the corner of his eye, but anything closer than that he would have to turn his body to see.

Slowly, Albert clenched and flexed his fingers. After a few repetitions, making a fist no longer elicited a dull ache, and he moved on to turning his wrists. In a similar manner he kept working until he could move both arms freely. Then, gingerly, he pushed himself into a sitting position. At first he had to hold himself up by pressing his hands into the cot, but soon enough his core muscles regained their strength and he could sit up properly. The whole time he had to be mindful of the electrodes and IVs still attached to him to keep from dislodging them. He waited a moment to make sure he wasn't going to faint, and then slowly swung his leg over the side of the cot. The second soon followed, and he paused with his feet lightly touching the cool tile floor. He stretched out every part of his body he could without moving off the bed; by the time he got done, fatigue was beginning to creep up on him.

It was upsetting to be so weak. He felt like he should already be able to stand and walk and run and fight, but he was starting to feel light-headed. With a sigh of resignation, he stretched back out on the cot and closed his eyes. After a short nap, he promised himself, he'd sit back up.

* * *

"Sucks for you if you only know English and you have to stay here," Chris remarked wryly to Jill. They were wandering through the grounds of HQ, taking an impromptu tour, and most of the signs were in French, with subtitles in Swahili (and occasionally English).

Sheva, who was leading them, spun around to walk backward so that she could face them. She was smirking. "Sucks for anyone going into the US who speaks anything but English," She retorted. "Most of the people here grow up bilingual, at least. There are so many tribal dialects that many know more than just two languages. You Americans are spoiled."

Jill laughed, and Chris crossed his arms, mock-pouting at Jill. He was impressed with how quickly she had perked up – he knew she was only putting on a strong face to keep him from worrying, but at least now, after nearly a week, she wasn't crying herself to sleep like she had the first few days after coming out of quarantine.

Sheva chuckled at Chris' expression and rolled her eyes toward Jill. At first she hadn't been sure how to behave around the woman – after all, this was the person she would have helped rescue, if she hadn't chickened out of the mission. Neither Jill nor Chris had mentioned anything about that, though, and she was making up for her cowardice as much as she could by sticking around HQ. With her there, at least, there was someone they could speak to. Having spent several years in an American university, she had more in common with them than most of the other BSAA agents in the West African base.

Then, Chris' pocket buzzed. He quickly pulled his PDA out, and Jill leaned over his arm to read the message. Sheva saw both their expression go from avid interest to relief. Chris looked up to her, and she waved them off before he could open his mouth. She could guess that it was new information about Albert's progress.

Jill and Chris trotted hurriedly through the base to the medical wing, and met the male researcher who'd just come from the quarantine. Seeing the eager look on their faces, he couldn't help but smile slightly. "Well, that was quick."

"You said you had good news?" Jill said impatiently.

"Indeed I do. He just woke up – he can speak already, and move a little." He held up his hands to stop them before they could speak. "Mind you, it will probably be a while longer before he gets to the point that we can let him go, but right now the prognosis is good."

Jill's eyes were intense with relief. "How long until he gets out?"

The researcher shrugged. "It's hard to say – I haven't worked with his kind of infected before. For a human, I'd put the recovery time at several months until he can walk, provided he doesn't overextend himself. With his situation there's no telling, but it'll probably end up being less than that."

Jill leaned into Chris' side. She was trying not to be disappointed at the prospect of having to wait that long. She knew rushing it would be detrimental in the long run, but she had spent so long without having him there, and the short time she'd gotten to spend with him since then had been marred by his illness. She sighed in resignation and nodded.

The researcher saw Jill's distress and smiled kindly. "If you want my prediction, I'd say he'll be out long before that. I'm obliged to give you the worst-case scenario, but just from what I saw, he'll recover much faster than that."

Grateful, Jill cracked a returning smile. "Thank you, doctor."

"Please, just call me Darren. We'll be seeing a lot of each other while Albert is recovering, so we might as well start off on the right foot," the researcher said, waving away her use of the title.

Chris decided that he would probably get to like this guy. "If you don't mind me asking, Darren, but what sent him into the coma in the first place? Since he's on the mend, it would be nice to get some answers."

Darren rolled his eyes. "Right, of course. I apologize for the mystery, but we were trying to keep it hush-hush in case something went wrong. You can never be too careful with these viruses." His mouth pulled back into an apologetic grimace. "And if you'll follow me, I'll tell you as much as I can." They trailed after him into the same room in which Chris had met Jill as she was released. Darren went over to the computer console against the far wall and started entering data.

"So, from what we can tell, what put him in such bad shape was that, when he got here, he had several distinct viruses in his bloodstream. Your friends at the North American HQ sent us the data on Arklay and TyAW, so those weren't a surprise. There was another one we've never seen before – you called it Uroboros, I believe – but it was behaving itself surprisingly well, at least in terms of interacting with the other two. However, we found traces of another agent in there that we identified as a distant cousin of T-Veronica. All this, of course, goes along with your testimonies of what happened in Kijuju." Darren turned to lean against the desk and looked at them. "So basically, that whole upset was that weird T-V agent reacting with the other viruses. Thankfully, we haven't found any trace of the T-V in his blood since his vitals stabilized out two weeks ago. It's safe to say he's in the clear, since Uroboros gets along with the other two viruses and hasn't so much as hiccuped since he came in."

"Which reminds me – Jill, we found something in your bloodwork. Are you all right with me discussing it here?" Darren suddenly said, glancing at Chris. When he noticed the blood drain from her face, he quickly held up his hands. "It's nothing bad, believe me. If anything, it's good." Confused and cautious, she gestured for him to continue. "Well, when we were doing the usual battery of tests for possible infection, we found a whole bunch of unexpected antibodies. Just to be safe, we tested it against one of our samples of the t-virus, and those antibodies took care of it like nothing we've ever seen before."

Jill nodded knowingly. "I was in Raccoon when it broke out, and got infected, but I got the antivirus before I turned."

Darren chewed on the inside of his lip thoughtfully. "That would explain it. But these don't look exactly like the other t-antibodies we've seen... do I have your permission to run more tests? I have a hunch, but I won't know for sure until I gather more data."

A wry, slightly weary smile tugged at Jill's lips. "I've been poked and prodded so much that by now, one more doesn't make any difference. Be my guest." Chris' arm tightened around her shoulder at that statement, and Darren's expression softened. He thanked her sincerely.

* * *

All right, these IVs were starting to get annoying. Albert was sitting up again, but until he could be rid of the encumbering wires and tubes trailing from his skin, he couldn't really stand up properly. So he arranged himself comfortably, leaning against the head of the cot, and pushed the button that would summon one of the researchers to his side. A few minutes later, Darren walked into the room, clearly having hurriedly slipped the surgical mask over his face. He also flicked on the lights as he entered, earning a grunt of protest from Albert, who shielded his eyes. Darren balked in shock to see his patient already sitting up, which gave Albert the chance to grind out, "Lights _off_ please."

Darren quickly reached back and flipped the switch down. He was left blinking owlishly in the dark, mentally cursing the fact that his patient had to be so photosensitive. It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust enough to see, and when he did he approached the cot. He could see that Albert was still sitting upright. "What are you doing sitting up like that? Lay back down! Are you _trying _to make yourself relapse?" He put a hand on Albert's shoulder and pushed, but the tyrant was unmoved.

About all Darren could see of Albert's eyes was the reflection of light off his mirrored retinas, and the eerie greenish circles regarded him stoically. "I know what I'm doing, Dr. Khalil. I know my limits far better than you do. I'm not going to endanger my health, but I will move at my own pace, and my own pace just happens to be faster than that of a human. Are you trying to tell me I don't know how to take care of myself?" The cool, flat tone of Albert's voice was chilling, especially when he saw a slight red glow flare up in a ring around the green reflection.

Still, despite the little jolt of adrenaline that entered his veins and the instinctive urge to back away, Darren stayed put. "I'm just saying that you need to take it easy. You've been in a _coma_ for three weeks. Just being cognizant of your surroundings when you woke up an hour ago is unheard of, and having the muscular control to sit up..." Amazement was warring with incredulity in his voice.

"Thank you for stating the obvious, doctor," Albert remarked, sarcasm dripping from his tone. "For me, this is taking it easy. My body recovers from stress far more quickly than a human's body does. You are not used to that, and I am, so I would ask you kindly to let me have my way. You have my word that I will not overextend myself."

Darren crossed his arms across his chest. "Fine – I guess we can strike a deal. I'll allow that you probably recover faster, so I'll try not to nag you. But, in return, I ask that you take it _slow_ so that I don't have to go into a panic whenever I check up on you."

The green circles bobbed up and down as Albert nodded. "Agreed."

Darren sighed and let his arms fall. "All right. Was there anything you needed?"

"If you would be so kind, the IVs are no longer necessary. Solid food would facilitate my recovery considerably."

"Give you an inch and you take a mile. Fine. I'll have to turn the lights on, though." Darren huffed a sigh. He could tell this one was going to be a difficult patient. Most everyone with any medical training was.

"Of course," Albert allowed. The only reason he'd reacted before was because his eyes had spent so long in low-light conditions that the sudden surge of light hit him harder than usual.

Darren went over to flick the lights on, and when he turned back around, Albert had his eyes closed. He had turned his arms up to allow for the removal of the IV needles. Darren smoothly pulled the needles out and turned to get bandages to put over the wounds, but then Albert showed him that it had already healed. "As I've said before, I recover quickly," he stated mildly. And now that his eyes were adjusted to the light, he had them open, and Darren could get the full effect of the golden-orange color.

The researcher laughed nervously. "Apologies. I'm just not used to –"

"That's understandable," Albert said, waving a hand to cut him off. "If you'll work with me rather than against me, it will be much easier. My goal is the same as yours, in this case."

"True enough," Darren allowed. He took down the suggestions Albert gave him about the food he should be getting.

As he was about to leave, suddenly he felt a strong, warm hand close over his wrist. He turned back and felt like a baby bird being stared down by a snake, the way the tyrant's eyes burned with a tinge of red. "How are Jill and Chris?"

"Both are fine, physically. Mentally, tired. They've refused to leave until you're well enough to get out of here."

Albert nodded. "You've told them that I'm awake?"

"I'm afraid to think of what they would've done if I hadn't," Darren replied wryly.

A faint smirk tugged at the tyrant's lips at the truth in that statement. "Tell them that I'll see them soon."

Darren rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Don't get any ideas. I'll pass the word on." He left, and Albert settled back onto the cot for a nap, since there wasn't much else to do and he was still slightly tired.

* * *

Darren stepped once more into the quarantine room, and was unfazed to see Albert standing at the computer console. They'd given him access to the data they'd collected during his comatose state, on him and on the tests they'd run on Jill and Chris' blood, and to keep himself occupied, he'd taken to studying it. "Getting restless, I see," Darren remarked.

"Being cooped up in a single room for an extended period of time grates on my patience," Albert replied absently. "Have you gotten anything else from the second round of tests on the antibody samples?"

Darren set down the tray of food he'd brought. "Nope. Still coming up the same."

Albert exhaled in a huff. His fists were clenched on the desk in front of the keyboard; with an effort, he relaxed them, and closed the window he had open on the computer. "I'll transfer these files to SAARIBOW and look at them later," he muttered, lifting a hand to massage the bridge of his nose.

"I have some news that might improve your mood," Darren offered, looking sidelong at Albert. When he was given a raised eyebrow, he smirked. "If you want, you can leave quarantine. You won't be allowed to go back to the States for a little while longer, but the executive decision is that you're well enough to have some leg-room."

"About time," Albert snorted.

Darren chuckled. "I'm surprised you haven't been bugging me about it much. I had to do quite a bit of convincing, but they spoke to a few of your coworkers back in the States and they backed me up."

Albert looked at the younger researcher for a moment. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Darren replied, bowing slightly. "There's a change of clothes outside the door – and, last I heard, Jill and Chris were having lunch. Probably in the vicinity of the track – everybody on break goes there if they stay on the premises." He left the room with a wink, and Albert cracked a smile. He had been planning to leave forwarding the files for another day, but since he had no intention of spending any more time in this room, he went ahead and commenced the file transfer while he ate, and shut the computers down once the task was complete. Then, he quickly shed the scrubs he had been forced to endure and pulled on the uniform Darren had provided. Thoughtfully, he had also left a pair of sunglasses, knowing that the tyrant's eyes would be sensitive to the bright sunlight outside.

Albert prowled through the halls of the medical wing until he came across another researcher, from whom he got directions to the track. It was at the other end of the base – a good fifteen minute walk. The distance didn't really bother him. He was glad to get the chance to roam after being trapped in the quarantine for nearly two weeks.

Soon enough, after following the multitude of signs, he came upon the exit that led out to the track. He pushed the door open and paused, blinking against the intense tropical sun. The air was hot and humid – it was such a contrast to the inside that he hesitated for a moment until he adjusted to the new conditions. Then, he scanned the area for any sign of life, and spotted three figures leaning against the fence, halfway between where he stood and the other short side of the track. He was on the same side, which meant that they hadn't spotted him yet. He smirked and began to casually approach. How close would he get before they noticed?

Sheva and Jill were both standing with their backs to him, and Chris was facing them, which meant that he was the first to spot the approaching tyrant. Albert put a finger to his lips, and Chris obligingly looked back over at Sheva without saying anything. Albert managed to get within a few meters of them before the two women noticed the sounds of his footsteps. Jill was the first to turn. She froze in shock for a split second, and Albert came to a halt in front of her. She raised one hand toward him, which he cupped in one of his own. The touch broke whatever spell had fallen over her, for Jill threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck. His arms locked around her.

Sheva averted her gaze and looked at Chris. She felt a little awkward being there – like she was an outsider, a fifth wheel. She went to leave. Chris nodded gratefully at her as she left, before turning his attention back to the other two. Jill had broken down into tears and was sobbing into Albert's shoulder. He had his face pressed into the top of her head, and Chris could see thin ribbons of tears running down his cheeks as well. It brought a faint smile to the marksman's lips.

Jill soon controlled her sobs and raised her head, lacing one hand in his hair to crush their mouths together fervently. Albert tightened his arms around her. They stood like that for several long moments, reluctant to move, as if they would be parted again as soon as they let go. Eventually, Jill disentangled her lips, and still with her face pressed against his, she breathed, "I missed you so much."

"And I you, my very dear heart," he murmured, stroking her back soothingly with one hand. He loosened his grip enough to look into her face. "Have you been well?" He could see the dark rings under her eyes, and all the stress-lines in her face that aged her far beyond her years. Glancing down, he noticed an edge of gauze peeking above the collar of her shirt.

She snorted. "Other than worrying half to death about you, you mean?" He looked back up into her eyes. Jill reached up to pull the sunglasses off his nose; he didn't stop her, though he did squint against the bright sunlight for a few moments until his eyes adjusted. She smiled faintly up into his face.

He leaned his brow against hers. "You need not worry any longer, my dear. Soon we'll be leaving here and going home."

"Home..." It had been so long since Jill had even given a thought to home. They had lived in many places over the years, so it was difficult to say she felt a particular connection to any one place. In her mind, what made it home was having her loved ones there. Even so, the thought of being in a familiar place far away from Africa was very appealing. She tightened her arms around his waist momentarily, then took a small step back so she could look him full in the face. "How long will they keep you?"

Albert raised and dropped one shoulder in a shrug. "No more than a few days, if I can get my way," he replied, and Jill smiled slightly at the disgruntlement in his voice. Clearly, he hadn't gotten his way as often as he wanted to during the past few weeks.

Chris stepped over to them. "Claire and Sherry will be waiting for us when we get back," he mentioned.

Albert looked over at the marksman. "You've spoken to them recently?"

"I've been calling regularly since they let me out. They know as much as I can tell them."

So they knew, at the very least, that Jill was back. Good. The BSAA would naturally want to keep the details of the Kijuju incident under wraps until a more full investigation was under way, and cleanup had begun. Claire would probably be more informed than Sherry, considering her connection to Terrasave. That organization often worked in tandem with the BSAA, acting sometimes as scouts to scope out a situation, and sometimes as part of the clean-up crew. However, for an international incident like this, Terrasave would stay uninvolved, since its jurisdiction was within the United States only.

Jill smiled to herself. For all that she'd missed Albert and Chris, her thoughts had also turned to the others that had formed the extended AUM family – Sherry especially. She was like the niece Jill had never had. She sighed as Albert pressed his lips to the top of her head, and rested her head on his shoulder. He raised one hand to lightly touch the bandages peeking above the collar of her shirt. "What's this?" he asked quietly. He was sure he already knew the answer, but it was worth asking anyway.

Jill touched the pad of gauze on her chest absently. "While I was in quarantine, they went ahead and surgically removed the tubes from the applicator that were still embedded. Some of them were attached directly to the main arteries." Albert nodded to himself. He had suspected as much, which was why he'd cut them and not just ripped it out.

Albert retrieved his sunglasses from Jill and slipped them back on, causing her to give a frustrated snort. He smiled patiently. "I've had enough migraines in the past few weeks to last me a lifetime, dear heart; I don't want to get another one just because I spent too long in the bright sunlight."

"So let's go inside," Chris suggested wryly. Jill huffed a chuckle, and they started back toward the door back into the base. Albert unexpectedly stopped Chris by throwing an arm around his shoulders and pulling the marksman into a hug. Chris returned the gesture.

"Thank you for everything, brother," Albert muttered. Chris squeezed lightly before releasing the tyrant. It was slightly surprising for Albert to call him brother, but at the same time, it was reassuring. After all they'd gone through, they might as well have been brothers. Chris found himself smiling.

Once inside, they headed toward the private room that Chris and Jill had been sharing – Jill had been offered her own, but she hadn't wanted to be alone. Almost as soon as they'd closed the door, the temporary cell phone Chris was using until they got home gave a chipper beep. He pulled it from his pocket, checked the caller ID, and handed it over to Albert with a smirk. It was Sherry.

Albert flipped it open. "Hello, my dear," he greeted, smiling to himself.

Sherry choked on her words, shocked, but she soon found her voice again. _"Uncle?"_ she sputtered. _"You– I thought– Christ. Are you all right?"_

"Of course I am, Sherry. After spending an entirely unnecessary extra week in quarantine, I should be. How have you been?"

Sherry huffed a sigh that was somewhere between exasperation and relief. _"Worried out of my mind, _of course_."_

"There was nothing to worry about, unless you were kept ill-informed." He was looking pointedly at Jill as he said this, and she smiled wanly back at him. "The danger was over weeks ago, and we'll be returning to the US soon."

"_I should damn well hope so; you've been gone for nearly a month and a half."_ She sighed heavily, and Albert heard a rush of air followed by a soft impact that meant she had slumped into a chair. _"Jesus, uncle, you had me scared stiff. I heard nothing from you or Chris for a week solid – then Chris calls me and tells me you're in a _coma_ and I was about to convince myself that you were going to die."_

"You should know by now, dear heart, that I'm never going to die," Albert chuckled. "I'm going to be around for a lot longer to pester you."

Sherry laughed weakly. _"I guess so. Just don't scare me like that again, Uncle Albert."_

"I won't," he promised – soft but sincere. He didn't plan on ever being given such a run for his money again.

"_You said that you'll be back soon – how soon?"_

"At most, a week. If I can get my way, we'll leave tomorrow." Jill gave a snort, and he had to agree. Darren had proved to be equally stubborn, and he would probably refuse to let him leave for another two or three days at least.

"_All right. I'll see if I can convince the people over at SAARIBOW to let me pay a visit so I can be there when you get back."_ She exhaled slowly, and suddenly her voice was softer. _"I still can't really believe it. Jill really is back, isn't she?"_

Albert's eyes instinctively went back to Jill's face. "Yes. Would you like to speak to her?" Jill inclined her head slightly. She could hear only enough to recognize Sherry's voice, and not pick out the words. If she had been closer, though, she knew she would be able to hear Sherry's end of the conversation.

Sherry agreed, and Albert handed the phone over to Jill. "Hey, Sherry," Jill said softly, smiling. She had spoken to Sherry a few times since getting out of quarantine, but for both of them, it was still a little surreal since there was such a great distance between them.

"_Hey."_ Sherry paused briefly. _"Are you doing any better?"_ She had been easily able to pick up the stress in Jill's tone when they'd spoken, though the older woman hadn't given much hint as to her state of mind.

"A little, now that we'll be back soon," Jill answered. "It's been too long."

"_It really has,"_ Sherry agreed. _"It won't be much longer, hopefully. I'll see you when you get back."_

"Yeah. I'll see you then." She handed the phone back to Albert, who said his goodbyes, and then Chris got a turn to speak to Sherry before they hung up.

When Chris finished tucking the phone back into his pocket, he turned to see Jill leaning against Albert's side, his arm around her waist and his face pressed into her hair. The marksman smiled to himself and gestured to the rest of the room. "I guess we're all going to be staying here until we leave? I don't mind, I'm just asking."

Albert glanced down at Jill's face, and she looked back up at him plaintively. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Looks like it," he answered. Jill clearly didn't want to be parted from either of them, and it wasn't like he had any objection. They had shared rooms enough before to be comfortable around each other.

* * *

**I has a question for you peeps. I'm already working on rewriting this story, and that includes actual character development (gasp) for our villain. That villain has been Nathan, but I'm sorely tempted to change that. What would you peeps think if I worked Alex Wesker into this, taking Nathan's place as the villain? I think Alex would make a considerably more interesting villain, if only because of the relationship to Albert. (to be honest, I've already switched them, but I'd like you peeps' input anyway) **


	23. Homecoming

**I apologize for the lateness, shortness and shittiness of this chapter. I hit a Museblock halfway through and couldn't get around it for some time, partly because of bullshittery on my end of the interblag. -sigh- hopefully things will start to look up to the point that I can finish this damn fic and work on the others.**

**Also, if you have any ideas for the rewrite – something you think I glossed over here (which I did a lot, unfortunately) that you'd like to see elaborated, or just a suggestion. Believe it or not, useful constructive criticism makes me an even happier Desert than just gushing, although I do appreciate all of you who seem to think my writing is worthwhile. I'll be looking for a beta to help me with the rewrite, so if anyone knows a good beta or is willing to help, shoot me a PM or something.**

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Darren's expression remained neutral throughout the entire conversation, though Albert could see humor dancing beneath the impassive mask the younger researcher had imposed. He reached down for his clipboard and scribbled something onto it before looking back up at the tyrant. "You're preaching to the choir, my friend. I can tell you're more than ready to leave, and if it was me making the final decision, I'd send you on your way this very afternoon," he said, surprising Albert. "I'll have a word with Erica and the others. They're not convinced, but that's only because they didn't have much to do with your case. However, I have a silver tongue when I want to, and I'm sure I can charm a release form out of them if I try hard enough. You'll be on the plane by tomorrow if I have anything to do with it."

Albert dipped his head gratefully and stepped aside to let Darren stride by, heading toward the break-room where his peers could be found, with a businesslike air. Albert's respect for the man rose another notch. He had gone from merely tolerating him to considering him a friendly acquaintance, and Albert made a mental note to talk to SAARIBOW's commanding officer about this young man. The West African base was hardly the place for an up-and-coming researcher like Darren Khalil, whose natural skill working with viruses like Progenitor would be wasted. SAARIBOW was the BSAA's primary research station, and they were more than willing to take a transfer from another base if it would augment their virology department's staff.

And, true to Darren's word, by the following morning, Albert was officially discharged, and only a few hours later they were on a plane headed for the United States. The jet flew directly over the Atlantic and touched down at SAARIBOW – the perk of being on a BSAA pond-hopper was that they could avoid public airports, and all the accompanying hassles.

True to her own word, Sherry was waiting none-too-patiently inside the base when they got off the tarmac. With her was Claire, who was reigning in her impatience with only marginally more aplomb than Sherry. Instead of standing anxiously in the public area, she was sitting with her legs crossed gracefully, though she was twitching one foot up and down. Chris was the first to greet them, since Albert and Jill had both been accosted by SAARIBOW's native researchers. Claire surged to her feet and charged across the room, nearly throwing her brother to the ground when she tackled him with a hug. He staggered a pace, was caught by the wall, and tightened his arms around her shoulders.

Claire, with her face still pressed into his shoulder, sighed in relief. "I'm so glad you're back." Her voice was muffled, but he still understood her words, and pressed a kiss onto the top of her head.

Sherry strolled up, smiling despite puffy eyes that threatened tears. As soon as Claire released him, protesting that he was about to squeeze the breath out of her, Sherry threw her arms around Chris' neck. If he hadn't already been halfway braced against the wall, the unexpected lunge would have sent him to the floor. Chris chuckled and hugged Sherry back, knowing Claire was grinning at them despite not being able to see her.

Sherry loosened her arms and stepped back, allowing Claire to attach herself to her brother again. "Where are the other two?" Sherry inquired, looking at the door through which Chris had just passed.

"Davis pulled them aside. They'll be here soon," Chris explained. He hadn't been at all surprised when he saw the older researcher step into the hall before they could pass and request a word with Albert and Jill. Neither had Albert, though a look of exasperation had crossed Jill's face. She was ready to go home, dammit, and if she never saw another BSAA base, it would be too soon.

Sherry nodded in acceptance and stood near the door, her impatience only thinly veiled. She envied Claire, who seemed content enough for the moment to lean against Chris' side with her head on his shoulder. She looked back at the door. Claire was like a sister to her, but when she looked at the two Redfields together, it brought home that she was, genetically, alone. No siblings, both parents dead. She regretted the fact that their deaths hadn't been the blow to her that the same thing would have been to another child, since her parents had been absent as much as they had been present. And she'd always had Uncle Albert; she remembered him as far back as she remembered her parents – perhaps more, since he had been the prominent figure after Raccoon went up. And Jill. It hadn't taken her long to warm up to Jill and accept her into her newfound "family." Sherry may not have had any blood relatives, but, she reflected with a wistful smile, she had a better family – one that had chosen her, as she had chosen them, instead of just being saddled with each other like most. And now, as soon as these goddamned BSAA people got their noses out of it, the family would be reunited.

"How are they?" Claire asked after a moment, tilting her head to look into Chris' face.

"Albert is back to himself. He's fully recovered from the coma, but still looking pretty tired. We're all drained. Jill... she's alive. I think that's about all that can be said." He sighed. "I'm sure recovery, for her, will take years."

Sherry was biting her lip. "What happened? Can you tell us?"

Chris shook his head. "Not until we give our formal report. Until then it's classified."

Of course. Sherry nodded in resignation and turned to gaze out the window. It was raining again, and the glass was streaked with water that threw the soft light filtering through the clouds into distortion. The drumming of raindrops against the window was soothing, repetitive; such a familiar sound that she had to concentrate to notice it.

In her peripherals, Chris sighed, and Sherry looked back at him questioningly. "So you're not surprised, Jill looks different – noticeably different."

Both of them gave him perplexed looks. "Different, how?" Claire asked, eyebrow raised.

"You'll see."

Claire exchanged a look with Sherry before finally unwrapping her arms from Chris; she went over to the messenger bag and rummaged through it until she found a wad of tissues. Sherry accepted the tissues Claire tossed her, but kept her position. On the other side of the door, she could faintly hear footsteps and muted voices. One set of feet stopped early and then began moving away, taking the soft voice with it. The other footsteps hesitated as well, and she heard a soft murmur.

Jill's stride faltered as they approached the door that led into the reception room. Albert could hear Chris, Claire and Sherry's heartbeats on the other side, but he paused and turned to look at Jill. She met his eyes and lightly squeezed his hand. "Go on. I'll be right behind you." He understood her hesitation.

The door finally opened, and as soon as she met Albert's eyes, Sherry flung herself at the tyrant and buried her face in his chest. Albert chuckled softly and shuffled farther into the room so that Jill could pass through, and fondly stroked Sherry's hair. "I'm glad to see you too, Sherry," he murmured.

Claire, while Sherry was occupied fighting back tears, went over to Jill with a faint, wondering smile. She held out her arms and Jill stepped forward to wrap her arms around the younger woman. Chris watched with a smile as Albert gently peeled Sherry away from him and pointed her toward Jill. Claire stuck out one arm so that Sherry could join the embrace.

It was several minutes before they released each other, and Jill was the only one with relatively dry eyes. She reached back to squeeze Albert's hand for reassurance, while Claire and Sherry wiped their eyes. "Words can't describe how glad we are to see you again," Claire told her, voice thick with emotion. She truly spoke for all of them.

Jill coughed a weak chuckle. "The same goes for me. You have no idea what a relief it is to have familiar faces around..." She took a slow, shaky breath to steady herself. "I'm glad to be home." A huge understatement, of course, but Jill wasn't in the right state of mind to be making eloquent speeches. It was a wonder she could find her voice at all. She was still reeling from her sudden change in fortunes, and she was more than halfway convinced that she'd wake up and this would be a dream.

All of them were eager to be back home where they could relax, so they soon left SAARIBOW. Claire and Sherry had driven separately so that they had room for the three returning from Africa to ride along comfortably. Claire took Chris back to his apartment, and Sherry smiled slightly as both Jill and Albert got into the back of her Corolla. She hadn't expected anything else, so she simply got into the driver's seat and pulled out of SAARIBOW's guest parking lot. The drive back to the apartment – Sherry thought of it as just 'Albert's apartment' after all this time – took longer than it should have to the two passengers.

Jill stared out the window, almost childishly curious, and looked at the changes that had been made since she'd left. She suppressed an impatient sigh when, after what seemed like more than long enough, they still weren't back. She was longing to get to the apartment: it was somewhere she felt at home, and all the good memories she had of the place made it a bastion of comfort when all she really wanted to do was curl up and forget the world.

Albert had her hand and was continually rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand soothingly. She looked up from the window and locked eyes with him. He inclined his head, wordlessly asking to hear her thoughts. It brought a faint, wistful smile to her face that she still remembered those little mannerisms. "I'm ready to be home," she explained quietly. He nodded in understanding and released her hand, only to curl the same arm over her shoulders. Jill leaned into him and rested her head against his shoulder with a sigh.

Eventually, though the time dragged on dreadfully, Sherry pulled her Corolla into the familiar apartment complex and wove through the maze of buildings until she got to the one Jill and Albert had rented nearly five years ago. Jill felt almost painful nostalgia well up as she stepped out of the car, and looked curiously at the Mitsubishi Eclipse sitting in the parking space in front of the staircase leading up to their apartment – the space she remembered that Albert always used.

Albert put his hand on her shoulder. "My old Audi finally gave up about a year ago," he explained. "I had already sold back your Rover – continuing to make the payments on it wasn't a feasible option when we got back from Europe."

She nodded blankly, staring at the Eclipse as if it was an alien creature waving mutated limbs at her. The answer to her question was obvious, now that she thought about it, but she still felt like everything should be the same as it had been before. Like the past three years had been a bad, horrible nightmare. But it hadn't, and this was when it was finally sinking in. She had been gone for three years... three years had passed by without her. She almost dreaded going into the apartment, but Albert had an arm curled around her shoulders and was ushering her up the stairs. She heard Sherry ascend the stairs behind them, and shot the younger woman a glance as Albert paused to unlock the door. Sherry smiled faintly and held out her hand for Jill to enter the now-open door, which Albert was holding for them.

The living area wasn't any different than she remembered... maybe a little too neat, like it had been groomed to perfection in readiness for being sold. Jill licked her lips and went over to the coffee table, which was home to a neatly-folded newspaper. The headline read, "TROUBLE IN AFRICA: AUTHORITIES FEAR ANOTHER RACCOON CITY IN KIJUJU A.Z.". Jill picked up the newspaper and stared numbly at the image dominating the top half of the front page; it was an image of BSAA agents standing around a Humvee in a slum-like setting, some holding guns. One or two of the men looked familiar. The caption declared them to be Delta Team of the West African BSAA, stationed just outside the Kijuju Autonomous Zone.

Albert came up behind her and glanced at the paper, then turned to raise an eyebrow at Sherry. She cleared her throat. "That came out a few days after you left for Africa, Uncle. I'm not sure why I saved it..."

Jill exhaled heavily – not quite a snort – and put the newspaper back on the coffee table. "I'm kind of curious to know what everyone on this side of the Atlantic thought about what was going on," she commented, her voice distant. "I'll read it another time." She turned to look at the other two; Sherry was giving her a worried look, and Albert was studying her face silently. Jill pulled a faint smile up from somewhere for Sherry's benefit. "What?"

Sherry just shook her head and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ears. "Nothing... I should be getting back, Takoa's probably starving. When should I bring her back here?" she asked, looking to Albert.

"Tomorrow, if you don't mind," he replied, finally switching his gaze away from Jill's expressions.

"All right. I'm glad you're back safe, Uncle. Both of you." Sherry hugged Albert tightly, then gave Jill the same treatment. "Take care of each other. You guys are pretty much the only family I have," she muttered into Jill's ear. "If you need anything, call me. You know I'll do anything I can."

"Thank you, Sherry," Jill whispered back.

Sherry gave Jill's arm a final squeeze and left the apartment, her footsteps echoing on the wooden stairs as she trooped down. Jill turned to look at Albert, her expression blank. Now that she was back, she wasn't sure what to feel – relief, certainly, but it had been so long that it would take a while to get used to being free.

Sensing this, Albert reached out and cupped her cheek with one hand. She sighed and leaned into the touch, raising one hand to cover his. "How are you feeling?" he murmured.

"I... I don't know..." she replied candidly. "I don't know what to think or feel anymore. So much has happened..."

* * *

**One last thing. Most of you have already made mention of this, some of you with less subtlety than others, so I might as well address the concern now and do away with my attempt at surprising you.**

**Yes, I do indeed plan for Jill to become pregnant at some point in the near in-character future. So you can stop bugging me now! You'll get your wish.**

**However, since I have been lazy and have no opinion either way, I'll leave it up to all of you to decide the baby's gender. I've been leaning toward a girl (Albert playing overprotective Daddy is just too tempting) but if the majority of reviews demand a boy, then they'll have a son. Also, if you have suggestions for a name, I'm all ears (naming characters is not Desert's strong suit).**


	24. Conflict and Compromise

**So hopefully, this time, I'll be able to produce something worth reading.**

**One thing I feel like asking. There's a scene here that could be smut but since this story is rated T and I want to keep it that way I skipped the details. If I get enough people telling me in reviews to actually go into the full scene, when I go back to write this sequence in Perspectives I'll do so. Perspectives is already gonna be rated M for the sadistic violence and blood that my Muse likes to inflict anyway so I might as well throw in some smut if my readers want it. I offer because it has actual plot relevance, and not pointless lemons just for shits and giggles, which I prefer not adding. This may be registered as a "romance" story but their relationship isn't so focused on the physical.**

* * *

The room was nearly pitch-black, except for the watery orange glow leaking through the blinds from the streetlamp outside. The bedroom door was closed, and other than footsteps from the neighbors, there was complete silence. Next to her, he was stretched out on his back with one hand supporting the back of his neck. She was curled on her side facing him, gazing wordlessly at his face. His eyes were closed and his features relaxed, but she knew he wasn't asleep.

"Albert?" she ventured, so quietly that her voice did not seem to break the silence at all.

His eyes slid open and he tilted his head toward her. "Yes, dear heart?"

She hesitated for a beat to organize her thoughts. At first they did not come, and she sighed in frustration. Albert turned onto his side and cupped a hand over her cheek. His gaze, though trained unwaveringly on her face, was relaxed. He would wait for her to find the words she wanted to say.

"What's going to happen now?" she finally asked. "We're here, but there's no way we can go back to the way things were. Too much has happened. We've both changed. I still… I love you, Albert. Thinking of you was what kept me sane, and if I lose you again, I don't know what I'll do. I wish we could just forget everything and go back three, four years, but I know that's impossible. I just…"

His thumb rubbed across her cheek soothingly. "I understand," he murmured. "And for right now, I'm willing to wait and see how things turn out." She sighed again, and he lightly brushed a lock of hair out of her face.

"I was planning to move out of this apartment soon," he remarked. "There are just too many memories here. The lease is almost up, and I've been looking around for something suitable. I found a small split-level house in the next county; still close enough that I can commute to work, but far enough from here that everything will seem new." He paused and judged her expression. "Would you prefer that?"

"I think… I think I would."

* * *

The next day, Albert contacted the owners of the house he'd found, and arranged to come by to take a brief tour. By then, of course, Sherry had come to drop Takoa back off with her rightful owners. The sleek torti made a show of mewing and rubbing against Albert's leg; she sniffed Jill's hand curiously, but appeared not to recognize her. Jill wasn't surprised.

After that, they got into the Eclipse (Jill had to admit that it was a nice car, if not as extravagant as his Audi) and drove for about half an hour, into the city of Springdale, Maryland; within a short commute of SAARIBOW in the outskirts of D.C., but in a completely different setting than their previous apartment. Albert pulled into the driveway of a handsome little house, decorated with faded moss-green paint and tawny bricks. They both stepped out of the car and were greeted at the door by the owner: an older man, looking like a new retiree with too much residual energy. He greeted them with a smile and welcomed them into the house.

"I'm glad you could make it up today, actually, since I just finished repainting the spare room downstairs. Can I get you anything to drink?" he asked.

Jill politely declined the offer, and he took the two on an abbreviated tour of the place. There were three bedrooms and three bathrooms, all with showers, and several rooms on the bottom level that could be converted into office spaces or storage. The current owner had kept the place in good shape, and he told them that he probably wasn't going to take all of the furniture when he moved out. "I'm downsizing, so I won't need all this extra stuff," he explained. And since the price he was asking reflected the state of the market, it was nearly irresistible.

Jill found herself becoming rather fond of the place, as they toured through it. The structure was several decades old, and had stood through some rough weather and several fallen trees; the owner swore by the integrity of the place, and Jill believed him. It had a homey feel that just couldn't be achieved by an apartment, no matter how well decorated. She caught Albert's eye and nodded; if he was willing to get the place, she was all aboard. He nodded in return, and told the owner they'd be in touch. The man showed them out with the same warm smile and wished them a good day.

After that, Jill and Albert stopped to have lunch with Chris at a shopping center near their current apartment. The three sat down at the booth, and Jill looked around with something approaching confusion in her expression.

It had been so long since she'd been there that it was nearly alien: all the people bustling about, their casual chatter, it seemed unfamiliar. Invasive, almost. She knew it was a natural reaction and she'd get used to it eventually, but for the short-term, it was slightly uncomfortable.

Her table-mates clearly noticed this, because Albert lightly touched her hand, and when she looked back over, Chris was giving her a concerned look. "You all right?"

She managed a faint smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… not used to this."

Their server came up and took their drink orders; as soon as the teen left, Chris reached across the table to cover her hand with one of his. "We can leave, if you need to," he offered, but she shook her head.

"No, it's all right. I'd rather be here than sitting around doing nothing… I'd prefer trying to get back into the swing of real life."

He seemed to understand, for he retracted his hand and said no more on the subject, though he did seem more vigilant toward her changes in mood. She had to smile. Sometimes, Chris got overly protective, and while it was just endearing for now, she knew it was going to get old. But she had already resigned herself to the fact that she'd have everyone treating her like fragile glass for a while, until she recovered a little. It was inevitable.

* * *

They moved into the house a few weeks later. Chris, Claire and Sherry – who miraculously had a day off – helped them transport and arrange their belongings from the apartment to the new place. The previous owner also lent a hand, and as they were taking a break he good-naturedly chatted about the neighborhood.

There was an elementary school a few blocks away, with a track that many people used to walk their dogs. The maze-like grid of houses had its own labyrinth of hidden paths that wound through the area like game trails; some of them wended along next to the creek that trickled through the neighborhood.

The whole thing was quaint, and such a change from their usual environment that Jill and Albert quickly settled in. Albert set up a study in the office space downstairs, and they took the master bedroom with its attached bathroom. The front room was a comfortable den-like area, where Jill liked to sit and glance out the windows as she watched TV or perused a book.

There was a substantial backyard that Takoa, once they were confident she wouldn't try to go back to the apartment complex, loved to explore. It faced west, making it a perfect place to sit and watch the sun set.

That was where Albert found Jill one evening, not long after they had moved in. Takoa, who wasn't used to being allowed outside much, was sitting next to the beach-towel Jill had spread on the grass. The torti had reacquainted with Jill and now they were close again, since Jill paid her attention (unlike Albert who was often too busy to pet her or play).

He sat down next to Jill and leaned back on one elbow, following her gaze to the resplendent array of rusty oranges and honey-golds that vaulted above, staining the clouds' underbellies with rose. "How are you, dear heart?"

Jill's fingers idly toyed with the hardback cover of the book she had been reading. "Peaceful," she replied, a smile playing about her lips. "For once. I like it here. It's a fresh start." She rolled onto her side and rested her arm across his chest. "And what about you? Already impatient to go back to SAARIBOW?"

She knew him too well; he smirked. "Perhaps. However, I have recently found something to occupy my time that is not in the lab at SAARIBOW," he purred, cupping her cheek and stroking his thumb across her lips.

Jill leaned down to bestow a kiss onto his lips. "And what is that?" she asked, tilting her head in mock curiosity.

"I'm look at her right now, in fact."

Jill smiled and leaned her cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart and letting the warmth of his skin seep into hers. Her eyes slid closed as she released a sigh, content to let him lightly stroke the side of her face. Moments such as this were the most valuable things, in her mind; memories that couldn't be taken away. "I love you," she murmured.

Albert propped himself up and pulled her face closer into a gentle kiss. "And I love you, my very dear heart." Their brows touched as Jill's hand fell from brushing his hair into place down to the collar of his shirt, a mischievous look tugging up one corner of her mouth. He caught her suggestion. "Shall we go back inside?"

She got up without a word, gathering her book and scooping Takoa up off the grass. She carried the mewing cat back in while Albert collected the towel; they placed their burdens, Takoa included, on the dryer in the laundry room leading to the back door and trotted upstairs. They slid into their bedroom and Albert pulled the door shut.

As they both crawled onto the bed, they were eager but still gentle. They had both been back long enough for their thoughts to go back to these desires, but the passion and need was tempered. It was almost like their first time again, and it was a chance for them to explore each other and reacquaint after such a long time apart. Instead of heated glances they studied each other with tender curiosity. Albert lounged on his back and allowed Jill's hands to roam, finding the decades-old scars and the new marks Uroboros had left on his upper body. His own fingers found the marks left by the P-30 applicator and traced the ring of thin punctures, golden-orange meeting soft gray.

After all was said and done, they lay together and basked, Jill once more with her cheek resting against his shoulder. He had his arms around her, and they watched the ceiling fan stir the air lazily for a time, savoring the afterglow and the moment of peace.

Jill absently watched the hand Albert had draped over his chest, which tapped occasionally as some thought occupied the tyrant's mind. "What're you thinking about?" she asked softly, not wanting to disrupt the complacence that had settled over them.

"Reassuring myself. It's nothing," he replied.

Her brows furrowed. "Reassuring yourself about what?"

"The test results on your immune system."

Jill rolled her eyes. "Albert, how many times did you redo all of the tests? Two or three times? If they came up the same every time I think we'll be fine. I'm not going to get sick."

"I know. It's just difficult to undo a decade-long habit. I should have remembered to buy –"

"Albert, I seriously doubt condoms have been on your shopping list in the past three years. Between the t-antibodies from Raccoon and whatever that serum did to my system, I'm sure that if anything transmits I'll be fine. You tested against everything you have, right? From what I read of the report you and Darren did, nothing got through," Jill asserted. Though she wasn't surprised at all, she had hoped that Albert would let himself relax.

She traced her index finger around the discolored area near his solar plexus left by the Uroboros weak-point that had manifested in the volcano. "I was already immune to Uroboros anyway since my cells were used to make it."

He brought up one hand to comb through her hair. The roots were beginning to darken into a sandy, caramel brown; lighter than the coppery sepia it had been before, but losing the platinum blonde tones nonetheless. Her irises were also fading back, having reached a gray-blue by now. They weren't sure if her hair and eyes would darken any further; her complexion hadn't changed much, though she had been spending enough time outdoors to regain a healthy tan.

"I know," he sighed. "But the risk still worries me. I don't want one stupid mistake to cost me so dearly."

"It won't, Albert." Jill raised a hand to lightly stroke the side of his face soothingly. "After all we've been through, I won't _let_ it."

He snorted wryly, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Jill laid her head back on his shoulder and idly traced the lines of his chest. A thought came to her mind then, and she glanced up at his face, wondering how he would react. He cracked an eye open. "What's on your mind, dear heart?"

She went back to watching her hand follow the smooth lines of his pectoral muscles. "Just thinking."

"About…?"

She moved down to trace this abdominal muscles and obliques. How was the best way to say it…? "The future. Our future."

She sensed a bit of concern from him and looked back to his face. His brows were furrowed subtly. "Nothing bad. Just thinking about the future," she assured him.

"You're being vague, Jill," he scolded.

Well, might as well be out with it. She exhaled heavily and rested her head on his shoulder once more. "It's something that was on my mind before everything went wrong, but it we hadn't quite reached an appropriate time for it to be more than a whimsy. But…" she sighed. "I guess it's a biological imperative that's been creeping up on me. Unlike you, I'm still getting older, and soon enough it'll be too late to do anything. I just –"

"Jill." He knew what she was getting at. She looked back up at him. "It's not possible."

"What?" She sat up enough to fully face him.

He propped himself up on his elbow. "Infected can't reproduce. I haven't specifically tested to see if my semen is viable, but even if it is, the genetics won't match up. Even if fertilization occurs, it will in all likelihood spontaneously abort within days. Progenitor-based viruses are not kind to fetal development."

"Didn't you tell me that Umbrella made Hunters by infecting a human embryo?" Jill demanded. It wasn't much of an argument, she knew, but his outright rejection of the idea was troublesome.

"Embryos that were grown in the lab and carefully monitored, where we had the ability to directly manipulate them if anything went wrong. Those conditions do not exist for a fetus growing inside a human uterus."

Jill sat up completely, folding her legs under her. Her brows furrowed. "Albert, are going to not even try just because of that? Since you haven't done the tests, there's no way to know if it is or isn't possible!"

"Jill, it is not safe. Ignoring the potential to pass the infection directly between us, if a fetus did begin to grow and then abort, do you realize how easy it would be for something to go wrong? Every cell in my body has the viral insertion by now, even my semen, which means that even assuming that our genomes are similar enough to hybridize successfully, the fetus would be infected."

"So you aren't even interested in trying because of fear," Jill stated flatly.

"As I said before: I'm not going to lose you again."

"You talk about risks like you've never done anything dangerous in your life," she snapped, becoming more and more incised by his belligerence.

"If it was me, I wouldn't object so strenuously. However –"

"What am I made of; glass?" Jill sat up straighter, fists clenching. "I'm not as fragile as you seem to think I am, Albert."

He narrowed his eyes. There may have been something in them akin to contrition, but Jill didn't see it. "Comparatively, you are."

Throwing her hands up in frustration, Jill got off the bed and paced over to the closet to retrieve a nightshirt. "I may not be a tyrant, Albert, but I'm not going to shatter if the slightest thing goes wrong. I'm tired of being treated like the slightest breeze is going to knock me over."

Before she could quite make it to the closet, a hand was on her shoulder, pulling her around to face his stern features. "I'm just not going to take any chances, dear heart. I've come too close to losing everything."

Jill snatched a robe from the peg and jerked her shoulder out of his grasp. "_You_'ve lost everything?" She scoffed. "I can't believe you're being so selfish, Albert. Try thinking about what _I_ want and need." With that, she stalked out of the room, leaving him clenching and unclenching his jaw.

* * *

The next day, when Jill came up the stairs from her night spent in the guest room, she was alone in the house. Albert had left a note saying that he was at SAARIBOW and would call later. Her anger had cooled once she took into consideration the fact that he was just concerned about her well-being, but she was still piqued enough to snort scathingly as she tossed the note into the trash can. "That's his response to any stress. Bury himself in his work and wait for it to go away."

Jill decided she'd had enough sitting around the house. She got dressed and headed for the door with every intention of walking into town. It wasn't far enough for her to waste the time to catch a bus, and either way, she preferred being active. She had her hand on the doorknob when the cell phone she had recently acquired went off.

The caller ID informed her that it was Albert. She found it odd that he was calling so soon, but answered anyway. "Hello?"

"_I take it you saw my note."_

"Yes. Presumably no one at SAARIBOW was shocked to see you back so soon."

"_I had made arrangements to start back this week."_

Not surprising at all. "Thanks for telling me." There was no reply for a moment, and Jill sighed. "Look, Albert –"

"_No, you're right. I apologize. Last night, I _was_ being rather selfish. You have to understand, Jill, that I wasn't meaning to hurt you with the things I said."_

Jill paused, looking at her phone incredulously. "Woah, wait. Hold on a second. You, Albert Wesker, _apologizing?_ Is there a way to make this phone record conversations?"

On the other end, Albert sighed. _"Jill, I'm being serious."_

A smile had crept unbidden to Jill's lips. "I know, I know; but you so rarely apologize for anything that it always surprises me."

She could almost hear him rolling his eyes. _"I'm aware."_

Leaning against the closet across from the front door, Jill crossed one arm over her stomach. "Apology accepted, Albert. I thought about what you said, and I understand your concerns. I still happen to think you're being overly paranoid, but we can come to some compromise about this. Just know that it's not something that I haven't given a lot of consideration. I just… I want to move on. I want to put the past where it belongs and try to gain a little normalcy in my life."

"_I understand that."_ He paused. _"May we continue this conversation when I return?"_

"When will you be home?"

"_Six o'clock, probably."_

Earlier than he had in the past. "All right. I'll see you then." She shut the phone and went back to her original task of trotting down the brick steps and down the gentle slope of the driveway. The walk into town got her heart pumping and gave her a chance to sort through her thoughts further. They had already settled in the way only a night's sleep could settle them, but now that she was no longer upset, they required further contemplation.

Once she reached her destination of the mall – nothing like aimlessly browsing to kill time – she had come to the conclusion that what Albert said had its merit. There were risks to any normal pregnancy, and when you threw something like the t-virus and its relatives into anything it always amplified the potential for disaster. That, if anything, was a lesson she had learned years ago.

Still, he was being paranoid. Or… the more she thought about it, the more she came to realize that there was more to his objections than the safety issue. As she wandered through Sears with part of her concentration actually on what she was seeing, in case she saw something useful, Jill contemplated that possibility. What else could he have a problem with?

That wasn't too hard to figure out. As far as she knew, he'd never so much as considered offspring; it didn't seem to be a priority at any level. She well knew that he was single-minded, and once he had an outlet through which to direct his drive, he didn't appreciate anything new trying to pull his attention away. That wasn't to say he didn't like change, generally speaking, but he had his set of priorities and it took a lot of effort to convince him to reorder them.

Also, though he would never admit it, he was still adjusting to this new change in his lifestyle and adding yet another new situation even more alien than the current one was not something he was prepared to deal with. It was probably weird enough to find himself trying to fall back into having another person around, sharing his space. The first month or so after returning from Africa had been like the very beginning of their relationship all over again, since both of them had changed so radically that it was less like picking up the pieces as it was starting anew. And honestly, that was probably for the better.

Jill paused in her browsing to grab a milkshake and a bench to occupy. It wasn't as if she didn't understand where he was coming from. She'd originally had her misgivings, back when the idea first came to mind. She had known it was out of the question until they had reached a point where they could properly settle into a stable enough situation to raise a child; she had come to terms with the fact that it might never be possible for one reason or another. That wasn't what had upset her so much the night before.

There was also the concern that: was it really fair to bring a child into a lifestyle like theirs? Even now that Jill had officially left the BSAA, Albert wasn't likely to feel any need to leave SAARIBOW. He had invested too much energy and effort; to be honest, he probably needed it as much as they needed him. And to have a parent involved in anti-bioterror, even on the level Albert was, wasn't ideal. And Jill knew that even though she was done with the BSAA, she wouldn't be content with a boring desk job. She would find something engaging whenever she was ready to find work, and for her, engaging meant that it had a level of risk.

That wasn't even taking into consideration the various philosophical arguments against bringing a child into the world. They passed Jill's mind and she gave them some thought, but honestly, she'd never been the type to concern herself with nebulous philosophy. She was an action-oriented person, and she was concerned with the immediate, physical ramifications.

By the time late afternoon rolled around and Jill went back home to contemplate making dinner, she had thought through everything and made her final conclusions. There were pros and cons, but as far as she was concerned, it was worth it. She would present Albert with her thoughts, let him present his, and they would reach a compromise that suited both of them. She knew one thing that would be a deal-breaker: if he wasn't going to be involved. She wanted it, but if she was going to have to do it alone for any length of time, it ceased to be worth the effort. He would be an equal party from start to finish or it just wasn't going to happen. She wanted this to be for both of them, not just herself.

With her thoughts worked through, she could go about heating up leftovers with a fairly clear head, and waited patiently for Albert to return. And, as promised, he pulled up not long after six o'clock and stepped into the house to the smells of tenderloin.

Takoa greeted him at the door with a purr and a few passes through his legs, before she allowed him to make his way into the kitchen without getting his feet tangled in cat. He seemed surprised to see her looking so serene, and accepted a kiss in greeting before raising his eyebrows questioningly. "What brought this on?"

Jill shrugged slightly and transferred a portion of tenderloin onto her plate, leaving the rest for him. "I spent the day thinking about things, and I'm okay with what I figured out. Let's eat before we get too deep into the debate, shall we?"

Once they had both eaten their fill and were sitting back on the living room couch, leaning against the opposing armrests to face one another, Jill broached the subject. "I just want to hear your thoughts on the matter, no matter how silly they sound. I'm taking this very seriously and I hope you are as well."

His face was blank and contemplative. He took a long moment to organize his thoughts and take a sip of his drink. "As I said before, your safety and well-being is my main concern. Your immune system is probably able to handle the exposure you'd get from unprotected intercourse, but should you carry an infected fetus, the risk increases because of the close proximity of maternal and natal blood. And, should an infected fetus spontaneously abort, I can say with confidence that it would not go smoothly.

"It also depends on which virus the fetus carries, and whether it carries more than one. Uroboros naturally is the lesser of the two evils, given that it was _designed_ to be compatible with a wider range of genomes and encourage the survival of its host. I am more concerned if Arklay carries over. Arklay is too mutagenic to be at all safe for a developing fetus, and its presence would almost certainly engender complications.

"I'm not sure how well your body could withstand an aborted fetus infected with either Uroboros or Arklay. Both have a tendency to mutate uncontrollably when their host takes damage or dies, and immune stability aside, it could – and likely would – cause injuries to you, and it would put anyone around you at risk. Of course, this is ignoring the chance that both viruses would carry over, which would almost certainly result in abortion very early on. The sooner it happens, honestly, the better, since the smaller mass the viruses have to begin with, the less damage they can cause."

Jill furrowed her brows. "How likely is it that one or both viruses make it?"

He sighed and rubbed his temple. "Twenty-five percent all ways; none, both, or either one or the other. It's the luck of the draw as to which genes of mine make it to fertilization." He dropped his hand to look at her. "No matter how you look at it, simple probability says that there is a seventy-five percent chance that at least one of the viruses carries over."

That wasn't terribly comforting. Jill wasn't sure she was happy with that. She had thought the chances were slimmer – but apparently she'd been wrong on that count. Seeing her expression, he nodded. "Now you see why I am concerned."

"Yes… I do," Jill admitted, her mind once more a whirl of thought. She took this new information into consideration, and it added weight to the list of cons in her mind, but before she made any further decisions she wanted to hear Albert out. "Is there anything else? I can't think you haven't put any thought into it at all since last night."

"I was awake the better part of the night thinking," Albert told her, shrugging one shoulder. "And there is more, but they are all personal, selfish reasons that are my problem to deal with."

As expected. "I want to hear them anyway, Albert," she said, shaking her head. When he gave her an irritated look, she returned it with a stern one. "Seriously, Albert. This is important to me, and what you think about it is even more important since I don't want to force you into anything."

He heaved a sigh and looked across the room. "To be brutally honest, it's just nothing that ever interested or concerned me. It's nothing to do with fear or hesitation, since I had quite a bit of experience helping with Sherry when she was growing up, but my experience then was enough to convince me that it wasn't something I wanted to get involved with. Sherry was an obligation, at first, and even after I got used to her presence and began enjoying it, caring for her was still an _obligation_. Having her around was an inconvenience, many times. I am aware that the situations are vastly different, but not so much that having a child underfoot will not continue to be an irritation."

She certainly hadn't expected _that_. Jill sighed. Sometimes, she was convinced that Albert never parted from some of his bachelor ways. "So that's how you see children? Inconveniences? What about the kids you bonded with at your apartment before you joined the AUM?"

"They were never directly under my care. I don't object to children, and have found them to be much more pleasant to deal with, in many ways, than adults, but they present a hassle that I just don't have the patience for." Before Jill could say anything, he raised a hand. "Let me clarify. I would not neglect a child if it became my responsibility, but such a situation is not desirable to me."

Well, that was disheartening. Jill suppressed the desire to call him out, since she had asked for his honest opinion and that's what he was giving her. It wasn't his fault that it wasn't what she wanted to hear. She studied the leather upholstery while she mulled over the information she had just been imparted.

"Now that I have said what I have to say, I would request that you return the favor, dear heart," Albert said quietly.

Jill's answer came easily, given the thought she had put into the matter. "I'm honestly not sure how much of what I feel is part of the instinctive urge to pass on my genes, but I do know that it's something that's been on my mind for years. It fell into the background for a while, obviously, but I've been considering it since before we got engaged." If he was surprised at all by this confession, she wasn't watching his face to see it. "I knew, back then, that if it happened at all it would have to wait for a time when we were settled and stable enough to provide a healthy environment. And, even though neither of us are perfect, I feel like I'm far enough on the road to recovery – however much one can recover after the bullshit we've gone through – that I can handle it, personally. It's an important decision in any adult's life, the question of bringing a child into the world, but I already know what I want to do."

She finally looked up at his face, which was neutral. "I just want to have something that's a little bit of both of us. I feel like, if something like that exists, then no matter what happens to either of us, some part of what we were will live on. I guess I'm just looking for something concrete and tangible to hold onto after everything that's happened."

She looked back down at her lap. "Along with that, I know that unless you are one hundred percent as invested and committed to it as I am, it'll stay nothing more than a thought. I want this to be something we do together, from start to finish; I don't know if I'd be able to do it alone, and I don't want to alienate you by pushing something into your life that you didn't want in the first place."

She felt the couch shift, and when his hand curled under her chin to lift it back up, she didn't resist. "I've weighed the pros and cons on my end, and I still want to go through with it. You can take all the time you need to think about it, and when you figure out what you want to do, let me know. I won't argue or try to sway you even if your answer isn't the one I want. You're too stubborn for me to change your mind once it's made up, anyway." She smiled faintly, and it was mirrored by the subtlest quirk of his mouth.

Jill tilted her head to kiss his hand and stood from the couch, gathering their dishes. He let her go without a word, the both of them too absorbed in their own separate thoughts.

* * *

Crickets had begun their nocturnal serenade; a high-pitched counterpoint to the low whir of the air conditioning system and the lazy hum of the ceiling fan. Jill was already curled up in bed, a book braced on her knees, as Albert came into the room. He changed and slid under the sheet, sitting so they were at eye-level.

Sensing his attention, Jill closed the book and turned to look at him.

"I've come to a decision," he said softly. Jill nodded and inhaled, prepared for whatever he might say.

"Because of the various biological complexities involved, I have doubts that it is even possible for the two of us to produce viable offspring." Well wasn't this off to an optimistic start. "I still have my reservations about the risk of complications. However, I have had to remind myself that you are perfectly capable of recognizing and calculating for yourself the levels of danger involved in any undertaking. And, if you have deemed the risk worth the reward, then I will trust your judgment." He inhaled and huffed a soft sigh. "Once those concerns were addressed, I found that I could not honestly defend my more selfish reasons for objecting. They stemmed from a situation so far removed from the one we are dealing with right now that it was foolish of me to cling to them."

A smile had been growing on Jill's face. "So in a less wordy and long-winded manner of speaking…," she prompted, unable to resist taking that little jab at him.

It did not go unnoticed, for he gave her a sharp look with absolutely nothing to back it up before continuing. "I am willing to try."

* * *

**You can tell that the first third or so of that was kind of stilted and forced, but after that I managed to get it typed in one long outpouring of uncharacteristic coherence. This always seems to happen over the span of the wee hours of the morning (it's nearly six in the morning now) and it's incredibly frustrating to lose so much sleep.**

**Overall though, I'm very happy with how the last two thirds of this turned out. Very happy indeed. We got just enough drama to remind us that both of them are human (well mostly) but they dealt with the spat like adults, and reached an acceptable compromise while we got probably one of the fluffier moments of the whole fic. I was even touched by Jill's little speech.**


End file.
